


Call of the Dragonborn

by weaverofyourdreams



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dragonborn DLC, Other, The Companions - Freeform, The Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, love me a soft dragonborn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:34:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaverofyourdreams/pseuds/weaverofyourdreams
Summary: The Dragonborn commits to her duties. She leads the Companions, and the Dark Brotherhood faithfully. Something calls her to Solstheim, it's a call she can't ignore.





	1. Chapter 1

The damp chill of the Dawnstar Sanctuary greeted her as she woke, another night of fitful sleep. She had long since cleansed her blood of the wolf, but that was not was what plaguing her. Dreams of an ashen sky and monotonous voices of enslaved laborers haunted her dreams. She had been to Solstheim but the once, having been frightened off by the Ash Spawn, she was weaker then. She had managed to save the soldier, Veloth, barely kept her life in the process. But since then she hadn’t been back. Now she was strong, with the souls of many dragons coursing through her veins and the power of many mastered shouts, she could more than likely handle the Ash Spawn.

Those cultists still roamed Skyrim. She would duck and dodge, avoiding them just for the sake of annoying them. Once she actually jumped off a waterfall to avoid them, not having known whether the water at the bottom was deep enough to spare her. Thank Sithis it had been. Or she would have been serving her darling Dread Father far sooner than she had anticipated.

“Rise and shine, Listener! Another day, another opportunity to bring glory to our Mother and Father!” The high pitched, manic voice of her dear friend Cicero sounded through the door. She had a contract she had to complete. A simple one given to her by the Night Mother. The Dragonborn groaned and threw the blankets off of her, perhaps she should spend a few nights in Jorrvaskr. The warm mead and comforting presence of the Companions would do her some good. Her relationship with Farkas was platonic yet intimate, Farkas allowed her to slip into his bed upon the event of her worst nightmares. Ones with quivering tentacles and the echo of a deep, rumbling voice, promising the threat of his return. A voice whose owner she did not know. She had to change armor of course, she loved her shield siblings, and she didn’t want them to know what their Harbinger did when she was away from them. She loved the glory of the Companions, but ever since she killed Grelod the Kind, having merely been fulfilling the desperate wishes of a clearly demented child, the call of her Dread Father had been irresistible. And so she joined her dark brothers and sisters in the Falkreath Sanctuary.

 _If I had just been a little quicker…_ At first she had hated Astrid for what she had done. The Dragonborn had been nothing but loyal to her, never questioning her, always doing as she asked. And the damned woman repaid her with an attempt on her life. However, upon seeing her final act, the Dragonborn only felt bad for Astrid. She had desperately clung to a way that was never meant to be, the old ways of the Dark Brotherhood were the reason why it still survives today, whether or not they were small. They had killed an Empire! Their Dread Father now struck fear into the hearts of the people again. The Dragonborn rose, determining to go to the contract and fulfil their wish. To Nazir’s surprise, she had an intimate empathy for the lives around her. On more than one occasion, the Redguard told her sooner or later it would only cause her strife, it hadn’t yet, but she was not foolish enough to simply dismiss what her friend told her. The door opened, and Cicero carried a jug of steaming water and a wash rag.

“Good morning Listener!” He told her, placing the jug down on the water basin in her bedroom. She blinked blearily at the Jester.

“Good morning, Cicero.” She said, running her hands through her hair, attempting to tame the tangled waves.

“Darling Babette has sensed your distress of late and she made you a relaxing lather.” Cicero told her, pulling a little purple vial from his pocket, giving it a little shake and setting it down next to the jug. The Dragonborn nodded.

“Thank you, I’d like to start getting ready.” She told him, approaching the water basin, the Keeper nodded and left the room, humming a neat little tune, one of the ones he would when they were traveling together.

 _“And I said to the baker, you’re not dead, you’re a faker!”_ And his voice disappeared up the hall. The Dragonborn eyed the purple vial, taking it in her hands, she uncorked it, taking a sniff, soothing lavender and a spicy hint of dragon tongue. It was nice. Soothing yet awakening. The Dragonborn heaved a sigh and stooped over the basin, grabbing the jug and pouring its steaming contents over her white blond hair. She winced at the heat but it felt delightful. Perhaps after her contract, she should go see Paarthurnax and Odahviing. Seeing her most loyal dragon companions would help sooth her. She’d made a few more allies. She sometimes summoned Durnehviir just to sit and talk with him until he had to leave. Usually it was by a flowing stream, he liked the waters of Tamriel, the Soul Cairn with all its foulness of course did not have a drop of water to be seen. He liked the sound of it running over rocks and cascading down the side of mountains. His favorite spot in Tamriel was by the side of that river just before the Robber’s Gorge. It was the first place she brought him forth from the Soul Cairn. He would curl up at her side and hum with his deep, soothing voice:

“Thank you, Qahnaarin. I enjoy the rush of a fight, but it is nice to just sit with you.” Many of the dov she met found her approach strange. Since the fall of Alduin, any dragon she felled, she would usually stroke the dragon's head softly, thanking the dragon for granting her his power. Farkas and Vilkas had found her behavior unusual as well. Typically she would fell dragons with Farkas, but once while travelling with the brothers a dragon dropped in.

She worked the lather through her hair, cleansing it of dirt and grime, usually her hair shone after using one of Babette’s lathers. Men typically swooned, would lean in and take a whiff of her scent, if Farkas was traveling with her, he would almost knock them through the wall. They were not together, but he was protective of her. Despite being Dragonborn, she had a meek appearance. Strong men with good hearts would leap to protect her as a father or brother would do, women and children were comfortable with her, feeling safe under her soft ice blue gaze.

She used the remaining hot water to rinse the lather of her hair and then soaked the cloth, dragging it over her body, shuddering at the cold air kissed her damp skin. Then she dried off, standing close to the fireplace in her bedroom and pulled on her Ancient Shrouded Armor, however opting for the shrouded hood rather than the matching crowl. She kept the hood down for the moment, wishing to keep it dry as possible before she journeyed out into the frigid Dawnstar morning. The Dragonborn left her room, walking up the stairs and towards the main chamber of the Sanctuary. Babette was humming away at the alchemic cove and Nazir was making breakfast, their new initiate was sitting at the table.

“Good morning everyone.” She announced. She got her usual ‘good morning, Listener’ from the lot as she joined the initiate at the table.

“It’s an honor to see you this morning, Listener.” She said with her soft sultry voice. The Dragonborn had an appreciation for voices, it made her chuckle occasionally, she assumed it had something to do with her dragonblood.

“Thank you, Lizette.” She told the initiate.

“Took you a little longer to get up this morning, Listener.” Nazir said from the cooking pot. The Dragonborn looked at him wearily.

“I keep having nightmares about Solstheim, I suppose I should go back. Try to put those haunts to rest.” She replied.

“I would accompany you, if you wish, Listener.” Lizette suggested, the Dragonborn smiled appreciatively, but shook her head. After losing most of her family to the Penitus Oculatus, the Dragonborn did not want to put anyone else in the Brotherhood through any unnecessary risk. She would sometimes make the exception for Cicero. She would stop by Whiterun, of course, it was out of her way, but she would grab Farkas. His soothing presence helped her keep a clear mind in battle, even if the giant oaf couldn’t sneak to save his life. Someone would have to get past the business end of Wuuthrad first if they meant to hurt him. Nazir placed a steaming serving of food in front of her.

“Eat hardily, if you did not sleep well, you must at least eat well.” He told her. Nazir cared for her deeply, as a father would his child, the Dragonborn was appreciative of this. She had imprinted on Kodlak, but just like her real father, she lost him too. The Great War had taken her real father from her and her mother. She did not remember him, for she was just a babe when he was killed. But her mother told her stories of a handsome, hardy Nord with kind eyes and a sweet, gentle laugh. Perhaps that was why she liked Farkas so much. So after eating her breakfast and waiting for her hair to dry, the Dragonborn left the Sanctuary. Although she wore the armor of the Dark Brotherhood, most of the people of Dawnstar were not unkind to her, with the exception of Beiltild’s workers. So she stopped by Rustleif and Seren’s, the latter now being heavily pregnant, still stubbornly working the forge despite her husband’s objections.

“Good morning.” She told them as she walked up the steps. Rustleif looked up from the smithy, sweat beading his brow, smiling fondly.

“Hello, friend. Faring well I hope?” He told her and placed the weapon his was working on in the trough, steam rose up as the water hissed loudly. The Dragonborn smiled, giving him a nod despite her truth. She saved Dawnstar from nightmares and now she was being plagued by them, even if it wasn’t due to Vaermina’s influence.

“Yes actually. How are you doing Seren?” She asked. The lovely Redguard gave a winded smile, smoothing a hand over her great belly. “I’ll be better when he gets here.” She spoke thickly, as though pressed for air. As big as she was, the Dragonborn was not surprised, no doubt the babe was pressing against her lungs.

“You should be resting in bed.” Rustleif grumbled, pulling the unfinished sword from the trough and placing it back in the smitty’s fire.

“You know I hate being laid up even more than I do this damned cold, Rustleif.” Seren objected. The Dragonborn smiled, bidding the couple a farewell. Shadowmere was waiting for her at the town’s entrance, the Khajiit caravan was camped a few feet away from him. It was Kharjo’s caravan, so she stopped by and bought a few potions after saying hello to her friend. She mounted her horse after giving his nose a few pets and pressing a kiss to his snout then set off to the Winking Skeever. The target was a beautiful barbarian in Ivarstead. So the Dragonborn decided to take care of the contract and then hike to the Throat of the World. She disposed of the frost trolls and the oddball sabercat. Odahviing’s familiar and soothing roars reached her from the other side of the mountain as she walked the twining path. She sent her eyes out over the stretch of Skyrim, seeing as far as the ocean from her place on the mountain. Being with the dov brought her sort of uneasy peace. It was strange and conflicting, their companionship soothed her but at the same time, she yearned for something else, something similar, but not quite the same as the dragon’s. She knew the cultist’s leader, Miraak, claimed to be the one true Dragonborn, but she was the Last Dragonborn, the prophecy said so, unless he was to die before her. Perhaps even by her own hand. Alduin’s Wall was not specific about whether or not there were more than one dragonborn existing at the same time. She reached the mountain’s summit, smiling peacefully at the sight of Paarthurnax, perched on his word wall and the shadow of Odahviing falling over the snow as the dragon came to meet her.

“Hello, my friends.” She told them.

“Greetings, dovahkiin. What has brought you to us today?” Paarthurnax asked, slinking down the front of the word wall and walking across the snow. She approached and sat, cross legged in front of the two dragons, Odahviing curled around her, heaving a great, warm huff of breath.

“Perhaps peace and guidance.” She said. Paarthurnax hummed.

“Geh, you do seemed unrested.” He told her. The Dragonborn smiled, giving a soft laugh.

“Thank you for that, friend. I have been having these nightmares. I think they come from Solstheim, when I am done here, I will journey there. Do you know of a man called Miraak?” She asked. Odahviing raised his head aggressively.

“The Traitor! How do you know if him!? He has been dead for thousands of years!” Odahviing demanded, poking her with his snout. The Dragonborn pulled the letter she picked up off the cultist out and read it to her companions. There was a deep growl from Odahviing.

“I do not like this, Dovahkiin. You must go back to Solstheim, if he is trying to return from the grave, he must be stopped. He does not share your respect of our kind.” Paarthurnax told her. The Dragonborn patted Odahviing’s cheek, dragging her nails across his scales softly. She looked to him, seeing the same intent in his eyes as he did Paarthurnax, if those two agreed… then it must be what had to be done.

“Please, Dovahkiin. The world is at stake yet again.” Paarthurnax told her.

“I already planned on it, Paarthurnax.”

“Be wary, he too, is Dovahkiin. He can absorb your soul in the same way you do ours. If he is seeking you out, he means to end you, and consume your dragon soul.” Odahviing warned. She knit her brows, that was concerning. She looked out over the land, towards Solstheim, a very tiny pinpoint on the ocean’s horizon. Another Dragonborn was waiting for her, to devour her soul in the way they did the dragons. Something about that exhilarated and terrified her. There was a desperate twill, something in her reaching out, yearning to go to Solstheim, to meet this Miraak, even if he was trying to kill her. She placed a departing kiss on each of the dragon’s foreheads, hugging them carefully around the neck as the pressed their broad heads to the spanse of her torso. Before leaving the Throat of the World, the Dragonborn donned what she wore among the companions, her glass armor, fortifying archery and her one handed skill. She carefully tucked her ancient shrouded armor away in a chest she had hauled up here, where she kept the most precious of her belongings, Dragon Priest masks, the Daedric artifacts she did not use.

She had Hircine’s ring, upon seeing the ring, she plucked it from the chest and pocketed it, figuring it would be a good gift for Aela. She looked through the chest, seeing if she could find a gift for Vilkas. She had gifted Wuuthrad to Farkas. She had not appreciated the fact that the weapon was ‘especially deadly to elves’ so she did not want to personally use it. However, Farkas didn’t have a cruel bone in his body, so she figured he was who Ysgramor’s choice weapon would be safest with. She had told Vilkas and Aela she would search for gifts for them as well, not wanting to seem like she was picking favorites among the Inner Circle. She wished she could have found something for Vilkas as well, she knew he was smart, and would not take it personally that he was the last one for her to gift something to, but the Dragonborn still felt bad as she set on her way to Whiterun. By the time she got there, it was dark, the northern lights was already shining in the sky in the Pale. She set Shadowmere up in the stables and walked on foot on her way to the front gates. She didn’t think it was terribly late as she entered the city, for she heard the distant din of Jorrvaskr and the Bannered Mare bleeding together as she passed Breezehome. Joyous music spilled out into the quiet night through windows and the occasional open and close of doors. The Dragonborn opened the doors to Jorrvaskr and immediately a joyful roar came over the crowd.

“Harbinger!” They shouted, raising their mugs and she smiled soothingly, raising a hand, feeling the warmth and myrrh of warriors together wash over her. She approached the table where the other members of the Inner Circle were, sitting between Vilkas and Aela, greeting the three of them personally. Tilma brought a pint of mead and a mouth watering roasted venison tenderloin to her and the Dragonborn began to eat, starving since this morning. Nazir would not be happy knowing she climbed the 7,000 Stairs twice on just one meal.

“How are you, Harbinger?” Aela asked as she took a swig from her mug. The Dragonborn smiled, feeling comfort wash over her in the presence of the huntress. “Fine, weary, but fine. How have things been here?” She asked.

“We’ve still been getting plenty of jobs, the money is coming in and with it, the glory. So things are grand, Harbinger.” Vilkas told her with a warm smile.

“Marvelous!” The Dragonborn commented, raising her glass in good nature and taking a swig of her own. She worried, about the end of her days, when she passed. She wanted to join her Dread Father and her dark brothers and sisters in the void. But she also wanted to join her shield siblings in Sovngarde. How she would love to see Kodlak again. And meet her father. She had looked for him during her visit to the Hall of Heroes, but no one had introduced himself as her father, she had spoken to everyone in the hall. But he was not there. She knew he had to be there, her father died in battle. Ysgramor had reassured her that her father was there, they had discussed her occasionally since her realization of the dragon blood. Her father was proud of her. Even if she had a dark streak.

Then there was the call of her Dread Father. The Father she chose, the one who embraced her dark streak and loved her for her power. Although… in the end, she figured… if she had a choice between the Void and Sovngarde, she would chose Sovngarde. It was the afterlife of her kinsmen, she had seen it, it’s beautiful colors and dazzling skies, how could she abandon the home of her ancestors? She hoped Sithis would understand. However, if she had no choice then she would gladly join her dark brothers and sisters in the void upon her last breath.

She drank and ate until her eyes were heavy and her belly was full. She slunk off to bed with her siblings, still hovering uncertainty at the door to Kodlak’s bedroom. It was her bedroom now, the Harbinger’s quarters. The Dragonborn had continued to sleep in the whelp quarters until the members of the Inner Circle asked her why she was doing such a thing. They had to explain to her that Kodlak’s room and his belongings were now hers. She still felt guilty about it. She hadn’t been terribly close to Skjor, but her empathy made her feel Aela’s pain at his loss. So when the huntress approached her about vengeance, the Dragonborn hadn’t seen much harm in indulging the mourning woman just a little. But she shouldn’t have. They had angered the Silver Hand enough to make them attack Jorrvaskr, and she was not there to protect Kodlak, even if she had been absent doing work for him, it was still her fault these things happened.

“Wanna sleep with me tonight?” Farkas’s voice appeared and she looked, seeing the kindhearted twin standing in the doorway. They slept together as wolf cubs did, finding security in each other’s presence. She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to him about Solstheim, so the Dragonborn nodded and followed Farkas to his bedroom. The others gave him a terrible time about it, gossiping about Farkas bedding the new Harbinger. He took it in stride. If she witnessed it, she would defend him, as would Vilkas, who slept just across the hall so he would know of their activities…

She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it, especially after Kodlak’s death. Farkas had willfully pulled her into his bedroom and held her tight to him. Going so far as pressing gentle kisses to her temple and the thought of copulating with him crossed her mind. At the time she had told herself:

 _“Not now, he’s in mourning and so are you.”_ But as an appropriate amount of time passed, she found herself not being able to see herself entering into such a relationship with the sweet man. Caring deeply for him, but something was missing. Their connection as werewolves had felt almost right but as they cleansed themselves, it disappeared, and only the platonic love was left. After sitting down and having an awkward conversation with Farkas, she was glad to know it was mutual. She would not know what to do if he harbored romantic attentions for her, because she surely could not continue slipping into his bed upon distress if he was in love with her and she did not feel the same.

“I must journey to Solstheim, Farkas.” She told him as they settled in his room for the night, not quite ready for bed however. He looked at her from his bed, eyes questioning.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asked. The Dragonborn nodded. Farkas smiled gently and returned it. “When will we leave?” He continued.

“I was hoping soon… there’s a growing threat, whispers of an ancient dragonborn trying to return to Tamriel. I have to stop him.” She said, something coiled in her gut unpleasantly.

“I was thinking sometime this week, if not within the next two days.” The Dragonborn informed him. Farkas nodded.

“I’ll start preparing tomorrow. How long will this take?” He asked her. The Dragonborn shrugged.

“I’m not sure. Just be prepared for the long haul.” She told him. Long haul meant a tent, and supplies for at least two months. She didn’t want to settle far from Raven Rock, so if they ran out they could scratch together what they could from the settlement and live off the land for the rest.

“Alright.” Farkas agreed. They spoke for a little while longer, then slipped into bed together, back to back. She dozed off in record time, Farkas’s warmth and soothing breaths bringing her comfort, safe between his big body and the wall his bed jutted up against.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't too closely edited. That and it's kind of late for me, so I'm tired. Hope y'all enjoy!

She woke with a start, her hair clung to her forehead, damp with sweat. Farkas’s warmth was gone, but the chatter of morning in Jorrvaskr hummed in her ears. The night had passed. The Dragonborn slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed. More nightmares. 

The Dragonborn fished the Ring of Hircine out of her pocket and stood up, deciding to go look for Aela before getting breakfast. She squinted in the morning light of the mead hall, spilling through the windows in golden beams, glowing particles of dust floating through the sun like faeries. Everyone was groggy, eating their breakfast slowly but chattering happily with each other. Aela wasn’t in the mead hall so the Dragonborn went to the Underforge and found the Huntress praying. 

She waited for Aela to finish. She stood after a few moments and looked to her company. 

“Do you have guidance for me, Harbinger?” She asked, curious. The Dragonborn shook her head and opened her fist to Aela. 

“I got it from Hircine for helping a werewolf. I think you could make more use of it than I.” She said with a kind smile to her shield sister. Aela approached and took the ring, looking over it, studying the little wolf head engravings. 

“Thank you, Harbinger. I am in debt to you.” Aela said. The Dragonborn merely raised her hand and shook her head. 

“This is my gift to you, from one shield sister to another, you gave me the wolf spirit, and even though I have cleansed myself, I give you the power to harness yours further. You are my sister, Aela, and I love you.” The Dragonborn told her. Aela smiled, tears in her eyes, the Dragonborn knew if she mentioned that to anyone Aela would kill her for it. 

She and Farkas spent the next two days gathering their supplies for the trip. She’d seen Raven Rock, just how bad off the place was. In her first visit she managed to get the mines open, having spoken with Mallory Glover about the Ancient Nordic pickaxe. So she hoped that at least a little bit of life had returned to the settlement, but with Miraak looming over, she doubted it. 

Just thinking about him made that thing inside her coil tight again. She would have to learn to deal with it. If this man was trying to kill her she had no right wanting to find camaraderie with him. She wished she could find someone that made that hole inside her go away. The Dragonborn was not unhappy. She very much enjoyed her life, she cared for her friends, and her families. The hole inside her was not gaping, but it was a subtle reminder that there was something missing.    
  


She had taken a liking to Balimund in Riften, she spent enough time with him, even journeying together outside of Riften’s walls to walk the perimeter of the lake on warm evenings to watch the stars blink into the night sky. But as much as she enjoyed the old blacksmith’s company, she could not bring herself to don the Amulet of Mara she found and approach him for marriage. The Dragonborn was not desperate for love, but she felt like when she found it, the loneliness she felt would fade away. 

“Are you alright?” Farkas asked. She had apparently drifted off as she was checking Anoriath’s goods. The prideful elf was always bragging about his catches in the plains of Whiterun. Something in her twinged everytime she spoke to him. She liked the elf plenty, but she felt like someone had it out for him. She’d been terrified to approach the Night Mother recently because of this, scared that she would direct her to the soul that wished the kind elf dead. Nazir had been asking her about his own contracts in the works, but she would tell him she was busy with something from the Night Mother. 

The Dragonborn would be the first to admit that she was not a perfect assassin. 

“I’m fine, Farkas. Just getting lost in my thoughts.” She told him. Her shield brother nodded, slipping Anoriath the septims for his product. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The Bosmer said chirpily and Farkas heaved the bag over his shoulder to carry around as the Dragonborn carried their lighter supplies. 

She hesitated at the general goods store. Belethor always gave her the creeps. She felt like his gaze lingered just a little too long at the swell of her chest and the curves of her hips. She knew he meant no harm, even if he did she would just shout him apart. But nevertheless she entered the general goods store, smiled politely when Belethor greeted them and bought the supplies they needed from him. 

“You could break him in half if you needed to, you know that right?” Farkas asked. She nodded, looking over their list and comparing the amount of money they still had. 

“I just prefer he mind his wandering eye. I’m not here to be ogled at.” The Dragonborn told him, raising her head to meet his eyes. Farkas chuckled, the warmth in his smile settled in the Dragonborn herself, she felt calm and safety in the presence of her shield brother. 

“Have to give it to him though, with half of Whiterun convinced we’re together, whether he believes it or not, he’s being very brave.” Farkas poked fun, causing her to giggle softly. 

“Or just very, very dumb.” 

They took to bed early, and rose before the sun, Vilkas and Aela were waiting for them in the hall. 

“Be careful, you two. Solstheim is a strange and alien place; full of magic we aren’t familiar with.” Aela warned as she hugged the Dragonborn. Vilkas took Farkas by the shoulder and gave him a little jostle. 

“Be careful brother, be watchful of her.” Vilkas said softly to his twin. Since he become clean of his wolf spirit, things had been clearer to Vilkas, and he sensed a strife in their Harbinger. He had his faith in her as a leader, but he worried about her. Something was lurking in Solstheim and she knew it. He wished she would take more than just his brother to aide her, but Vilkas was sure she knew what she was doing. 

“Do you sense the change in her, Vilkas?” Aela asked as they watched the two walk away. He looked at the Huntress and nodded. 

“Are you worried?” She continued. 

“A little, but Farkas will be there, he can help her.” Vilkas said. Aela hummed, then began to leave the hall herself, feeling the itch to have an early morning hunt in the plains. 

She began to grow excited as the coastline of Skyrim finally disappeared she fought to tamper it down. She was going to face a man to the death. The Dragonborn was becoming annoyed with this giddiness at the idea of Miraak. He wanted her dead. He wanted her soul. This would not stand. Even an inkling of joy at the idea of getting to see him was foolish. 

“So, what do you know about this Dragonborn, Harbinger?” Farkas asked. She cursed mentally, she was trying to get off the topic of Miraak. 

“I know his name, he has followers and he’s enslaving the people of Raven Rock to do his bidding. I have to stop him.” She told Farkas. He hummed simply, watching the ocean churn. The thought that she was getting closer and closer to another Dragonborn kept swarming excitedly in the back of her mind. Her logical mind kept telling this stupid little thought that this man wanted to kill her. The stupid little thought kept saying ‘I don’t care, I don’t care, another Dragonborn!’ So the Dragonborn decided to drown both of these little voices out with some wine. 

However she regretted this in the morning when she nearly threw herself overboard puking her guts out. Farkas was laughing at her back. 

“I warned you not to down that second bottle, we can’t handle our liquor like we used to, shield sister.” Farkas said, giving her an encouraging thump on the back. She wretched but still tried to swing at him despite it. He dodged it easily and then disappeared into the depths of the ship. She was alone with her thoughts again, accept this time she had the company of vomit and bile. She was never going to drink wine again. Ever. Give her mead any day. 

Although, thankfully the wine had made her sleep in dreamless bliss. No nightmares of that horrific landscape of tentacles and rot. Good. She swiped her mouth on the back of her hand, thinking the worst of it was over, the puking was done, but the splitting headache was still there. The Dragonborn tried a healing spell, the warm buzz of magic in her veins made her feel fuzzy, causing the headache to recede a little. Bearable. She cast her gaze out to the bow of the ship, plunging determinedly through the waters towards the island of ash and ebony. He was waiting for her. 

He was waiting to kill her. 

It was night when the ship arrived in Solstheim. She had been awake, excited since Gjaland told her they’d be arriving before the dawn of the next day. So she settled with watching Farkas sleep. The Nord had such a peaceful face in his sleep. Not that he seemed troubled while awake. The Dragonborn wasn’t sure whether or not the ship’s crew would throw her and Farkas off ship as soon as they hit land, but she was ready to go if need be. 

The pull had started about halfway through the second day, blood calling blood forth. He was closer, but he wasn’t there. Not physically, Miraak was not in Solstheim physically. She wasn’t sure how she knew. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t felt this pull on her first visit to Solstheim, she thought maybe it was because of her wolf’s blood, interfering with the purity of her dragon blood. Or maybe she just hadn’t been strong enough yet, not quite as intune with her inner dragon as she was now. Whatever the reason, she wished she was still as insensitive as she was then. 

The Dragonborn was being drawn, almost painfully towards the heart of the island. Where his presence seemed to spill out from wherever Miraak was holed up. She also knew that this was where her death could likely occur. However, she would not be dying to Miraak, no. Not if she had anything to do with it, and she did. She had lots to do with it. 

She was worried about Farkas though, maybe she shouldn’t have brought him. She watched her shield brother intently. She wasn’t going to let him get killed. Farkas was going to be able to go back to him brother in Whiterun, even if she didn’t. She was sure of that. 

There were a few glad faces in Raven Rock, thankful that the mines were reopened, but still plagued by the presence of the stones. As she approached the one on the tiny peninsula, she gazed curiously, it stood tall, and complex. Workers droned on about their leader, Miraak. Speaking his worship in flat voices. Drawing closer to the stone that damned thing inside her tensed, wanting to reach out and grab. 

_ Do you feel him, the presence of an eons old Dovahkiin? He is here, he is here, he is here.  _ The Dragonborn had to do nothing short of smacking herself upside the head to break the loop. She studied the rock, the area around it, trying to find a way to break the spell, to free these people. 

“This place is giving me the creeps.” Farkas mumbled to himself. The Dragonborn nodded, it was uncomfortable. 

With a sour look of disdain on her face, The Dragonborn had another look around. She had touched the strange stone once and when she awoke she was unwillingly working on whatever the hell these poor people were building. She also couldn’t shake the hauntingly beautiful voice that had been speaking so softly, so intimately into her mind. 

“No change… Come on, Farkas, there had been a mage here on my first visit that directed me to a temple at the center of the island. Let’s go.” She said, swatting his hand down as he was reaching out for the stone. 

“Do you want to end up like them?” She asked with a nod towards the workers at Farkas’s annoyed look. He gave a soft gasp and looked around in shock. 

“There’s a temple near the center of the island. We’ll find answers there. Come on.” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny, itty, bitty canon divergence here. I edited this at five thirty in the morning before my shift, so if there's something wrong, my bad. Also my Dragonborn does have a name, it's sort of just part of the plot that she forgets herself a little up until a certain point.

As they crested the hill, the thing coiling inside her nearly made her drop to her knees. He was there, so close. But he wasn’t there, he was so far away. Her fellow Dovahkiin was so far away. She grabbed onto Farkas to steady herself, slapping her hand to her forehead, trying to break free of that thing’s influence. He grabbed her arms, gently guiding her to sit on the ground.

“Breathe, it’s okay, did you not eat enough this morning? Or are you tired?” Farkas asked softly, digging through their supplies.

“N-neither… I just need to catch my breath.” She answered. She was hot wired, her legs burned to run, run closer to him. To join her fellow Dovahkiin.

She realized with a jolt what that thing in her was. It was the hole she felt. The one that no one could fill. She had been yearning for companionship from someone who knew truly what this burden of Dovahkiin was. Nords revered her praised her, and the dov, no matter how they felt for her, were above her. Miraak was her equal. The only one that understood. The only one that knew what it truly meant to be Dragonborn. Not of man, and not of dragon.

It was the far reaching desperate voice of a woman snapped her out of her state. Someone needed help. The Dragonborn stood with Farkas’s help and started upwards towards the voice. She eyed the various dragon skeletons laying around. Why were they here? The Dragonborn decided not to put too much thought into it, ages old bones were the least of her concerns. Her concerns laid with the people that were being affected now. She would save them. She had to, as the Dragonborn it was her job to save those who were lost, protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

As the duo got to the center of the temple, they saw the woman who was calling out. A tall woman in Nordic armor, a Stalhrim waraxe on one hip, Nordic waraxe on the other. The Dragonborn scrunched her brows together and approached.

“You there! What brings you to this place? What are you doing here?” The woman, a Skaal, the Dragonborn assumed, demanded.

“I’m looking for someone. Who are you?” She asked, deciding not to spill her business to a stranger.

“I am Frea, of the Skaal. I am here to either save my people, or avenge them.” Frea answered, causing the Dragonborn’s mouth to upturn thoughtfully.

“Save them from what?”

"I am unsure. Something has taken control of most of the people on Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves, and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the Stones, the very land itself. My father Storn, our shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible."

Miraak! They knew who Miraak was? No one had known much about Miraak other than Odahviing and Paarthurnax. And even then they had not been able to tell her much. Which was actually… suspicious once the Dragonborn thought about it. Had they simply withheld information, or had they actually forgotten? But how could dragons forget the very first Dragonborn?

After a few more moments of conversation, and getting interrupted by a couple of cultists, the three of them decided to investigate the temple together. As they journeyed through the ruin, she saw the ancient skeletons hanging in the old rusted cages. He was a Dragonborn, why would he treat people like this? Unless the skeletons weren’t that old. It could have been the cultists residing in the temple. Perhaps it was a vain hope, Miraak had been a dragon priest… they were not known for their mercy. Frea told her much about Miraak. She wondered how the Skaal knew so much when the dragons did not. Something wasn’t adding up to the Dragonborn.

Along her suspicions with grew her excitement. The deeper they went into the temple, she could feel his presence, be it residual energy left over from when Miraak walked these halls eons ago or that he was actually there, within the deepest reach of this temple, the Dragonborn did not know. However this was the closest she’d felt to Miraak yet.

At the end of the temple after delving deeper into the building that she ever imagined it being, they came to a room with a grate, burning coals underneath it, the ting of smoke making her nose itchy, and a pedestal with a large, strange black book on it. The heat of the fire from below the grate she stood on went unnoticed as she searched for him. What did not go unnoticed, however, was the absence of Miraak. The Dragonborn gave an angry scoff, looking around with brows set heavy as she saw that her fellow Dragonborn was indeed, not there.

“Is that it! A damned book! Where is he! He should be here!” Miraak felt almost palpable, like he was in the room with them, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t there! Where was he! Off to the side was a pathway, she bolted down in search of him, only to find the end of the hall, a hanging chain and handle, she shot out her arm and pulled it, expecting another room beyond but was angered even further to find that the icy landscape of northern Solstheim greeted her. She gave a frustrated scream, reaching back out and yanking on the chain, closing the door ahead of her and turned on her heels to stomp back into the book’s chamber. She glared down at it, why was it here, what was so important about a book to hide it here?

As she thought about this, she came to realize, the book in front of her harnessed dark and vile magic. But she couldn’t resist. He was there, that’s where he was, in the book, just the flick of a wrist away. She had seen stranger things. She felt heady, like an animal in heat, focused only on this book. This book will take her to him! There was no shame in trying! She could try! She opened the book, Frea and Farkas both calling out in objection before the tentacles reached out and pulled her in.

She came too, lying on the ground, a crowd of creatures, strange, plant like creatures that hovered above the ground, and dragons. Three of them. Their attention on a single point, a man. A man in robes with his back turned to her. She felt the hole inside her twist and the Dragonborn struggled to get to her feet. He was there, he was there, it was him, her fellow Dovahkiin, in the flesh! Finally together in the same plane.

He spoke, wonderous voice, deep and vast just like in her dreams! He turned, looking unto her with hidden eyes. A hum, a pleasant little hum from him. She stepped forward, her dragon soul crying out, reaching out.

 _“Mul qah diiv.”_ How beautiful his voice was in the language of the dragon’s! It made her weak, nearly falling to her knees as a rainbow of light surrounded him, energy whistling around his form, giving him an ethereal set of dragonscale armor.

 _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin!_ Miraak met her half way, towering over her, about the same height as Ysgramor. He was an Atmoran, surely.

“Little dragonborn, how does it feel?” He spoke quietly, weaving a spell she wasn’t aware of. He tenderly took hold of her chin, tilting his head down as he forced her to look him even closer in the face, well at his mask.

“Is it everything you hoped? I, too, used to yearn for the company of one that understood.” Miraak spoke. She could feel her dragon soul reaching out to his; but like a mother with a rejected kitten, his only seemed to curl away from hers as Miraak stepped back, leaving the Dragonborn to stare stupidly.

“However, little dragonborn, you do not understand what it means to be such. You may have slain Alduin; on that I congratulate you, but you are still weak. This realm is beyond you. You have no power here. It is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon they will finish building my temple and I can return home.” He told her and her hypnotic state broke, her logic kicking in. Before she could pull from his arms, a horrible surge of electricity coursed through her, forcing forth a scream from her lips. She crumbled to the ground at his feet, sobbing in agony.

“Return her, she will have to wait for my return along with the rest of Solstheim.” Miraak ordered the strange green creatures as he walked away.

“Bastard!” She yowled, the Dragon Priest faltered, hands balling into fists and back going ramrod straight. He did not stop though as he moved towards the dragon, climbing aboard its neck and sailing away over a festering ocean of gunk. Tears spilled from her eyes, whatever those things were doing did not compare to the pain of his denial!

_Denied? How could he have denied me! No! Miraak, please-  Enough! No more. Don’t you see? He only wishes to do harm!_

“Harbinger!” Farkas’s concerned voice broke through the darkness. She felt a new and raw anger. She opened her eyes and took in Farkas’s face. He was relieved, suddenly holding her tightly to his body. Frea started to spout off, asking her questions, Farkas barked at her to stop. The Dragonborn was fine, feeling the hot licks of rejection, but fine, and angry.

She needed to learn a new shout, the Bend Will shout, and she would be able to free the people of Solstheim from Miraak’s magic. It was high up in the mountains of the island. And even worse off, it was defended by draugr and a dragon. She and Farkas took cover under the arch of the entry to Saering’s Watch, waiting for the fight to end, and to take on the loser. One by one, the draugr fell to the dragon until it was left alone.

“Are you okay?” Farkas asked in a hushed voice, she doubted anyone could hear them over the sounds of the Shouting from the draugr and the dragon, but she appreciated his quiet approach.

She looked at Farkas, pulling out her dragonbone bow, nodding. He didn’t need to know. She would be fine.

“Are we ready?” She whispered to him, intending to get the dragon with a sneak attack, hurt it as much as possible before the real fight began. He nodded, carefully pulling out Wuuthrad.

“On your mark.” He told her. The Dragonborn approached on her haunches, stringing an arrow, she felt the word wall humming, calling out to her with its mysterious chant. Its energy pulsing warmly through her veins, pooling in her belly, not completely unlike the hot energy of adrenaline. She drew the arrow as far back and let it fly.

The dragon hissed in pain and she pulled her waraxe, calling to Farkas as she set Spellbreaker in place on her arm. He ran forth with a war cry of his own, swinging Wuuthrad with all his might as he came into range of the snapping dragon. As the dragon ascended into the sky, she took in a deep breath.

“ _Joor zah frul!”_ The dark energy of the shout hit dead on, encompassing the dragon in mortality and bringing him back down to the ground. She struck, sinking her axe into his neck, bashing with her shield, and sinking the axe into the dragon’s eye. It howled in pain, but collapsed. Farkas withdrew, putting Wuuthrad on his back. The Dragonborn slipped the axe into its hollister on her hip and she knelt by the dragon’s face as he huffed his last few breaths.

 _“A worthy battle, Dovahkiin.”_ He spoke to her in his deep vast voice. She smoothed her hand over the dragon’s face.

“Rest now.” The Dragonborn spoke softly as the body began to burn. She felt the dragon’s soul pour into her, filling her to the brim with the energy of a thousand suns. Her vision began to grow white and she gasped as the soul joined hers, nuzzling deep into her being. The Dragonborn shut her eyes, riding out the thrill of it, listening to the wind as every inch of her skin burned deliciously.  
  


Farkas watched her, his shield sister’s usually soft and welcoming demeanor had changed, melting away to a cruel, hardened warrior, ready to whatever it took to kill Miraak. She had to have known the cost that came with vengeance, especially after what happened with Kodlak.

She stalked through the dwemer ruins with Neloth, cutting down reavers with ease and efficiency. He was worried about her before when she seemed to be stuck in her own head the whole time they were journeying through that temple. Now she was just angry. His shield sister usually loved a crawl through a good Dwemer ruin usually warning him about the locations of traps, teasing him about his lack of a sneak ability. She had fun in Dwemer ruins, solving puzzles with ease and a prideful grin.

She huffed angrily, listening impatiently as Neloth went on about the dwemer and their architecture. If they were so great then why were they gone? She didn’t want to hear it but Neloth was a prideful man and if she hurt his pride he might stop helping. The Dragonborn was running low on patience, low on energy, having refused to sleep since her first trip to Apocrypha.

Another centurion. The elf was worried, but she took it down with three shots. The steam was restored, she did not wait for Neloth to stop running his mouth before she went back up to the reading room. She waited with Farkas for him.

“What happened in the book?” Farkas asked her. She crossed her arms over her chest and ground her teeth together, blinking back tears. She heard the shakiness of her own breaths, knowing she wasn’t fooling Farkas for a minute.

“My damned dragon soul is weak. It wanted… it seemed to want to gain companionship from him. I knew, I knew all along that this man only wanted to kill me. But it wouldn’t listen. He rejected me. It hurt. The only person who understands what I am and he rejected me. That’s what happened in the damn book, Farkas.” The words fell from her mouth before she even had the chance to stop herself. She stomped her foot and bit on her bottom lip, afraid of what her shield brother would think. A tear escaped her eye and she angrily slapped it away, sighing aggressively.

He was silent. He must think she was a loon. Stark raving mad, crazier than Sheogorath himself! She had to have been; to think that even for a second a man willing to send a group of assassins after her without even meeting her would want anything to do with her!

“I’m sorry.” He said simply. The Dragonborn looked at him, wide eyed and in shock. “Rejection hurts… doesn’t matter if you were ready for it or not.” Farkas told her. She gave another shaky sigh, this one actually managing to calm her a little. Then Neloth came in, grumbling about them abandoning him, the Dragonborn didn’t care. She wanted to get into this stupid book and learn that stupid word and then learn the other stupid word somehow and then kill that bastard. He couldn’t reject her if she devoured his soul, now could he?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s probably some reaching in this chapter, I think. I searched all over the damn place to find out whether or not what happens could actually happen in canon, but I couldn’t find anything. But it’s my fanfiction and I get to chose what happens! Enjoy!

The dark, dank world appeared around her and the Dragonborn looked around, eyes keen for lurkers, or seekers, anything that could hurt her in this damned world. She would see Miraak dead for how badly he hurt her. Her dragon spirit was practically frothing at the mouth, screaming for his blood. She wanted to feel his energy as she forced it to become one with hers. And she would keep him, never use his soul for a thing. Let him know this damned purgatory is what he got for hurting her. 

“Your anger is delicious, little dragonborn.” Her shoulders bristled and she looked around. She did not see the damned Dragon Priest. “I did not say I didn’t want you.” He continued.

“Leave me alone!” She hissed, moving forward carefully, crouching and sticking to the shadows. There was a condescending little hum and a ‘tut.’

“You just need to be stronger. After I take your soul, you’ll be with me until the end of my days. Isn’t that what you want, the companionship of someone who understands?” Miraak’s voice was sultry and his words seductive, almost managing to calm the angry dov spirit coiling inside her. What horrified her was the brief, fleeting thought of ‘yes, being with him would be wonderful! She’d be safe wrapped up in a warm, fiery eons old soul.’

“I said, leave me! I hate you! I want companionship, not death and enslavement!” She ordered, yelling against her will into the air. Her back went ramrod straight and she pulled her dragonbone war axe, ready for anyone, or anything, to come.

“I could give you that, free you of that weak body. What is death but a release? We’d never be without one another, why fight?” He asked her. The Dragonborn growled.

“If your views on death are so relaxed then why not let me slit your throat and consume your soul?” Miraak chuckled, low and amused.

“I have plans.” He replied simply. She gave a scream as the brutal shock of the seeker’s attack hit her. Where had it come from? She raised Spellbreaker, making a quick advance bashing and then slashing up and across the thing’s chest. Miraak was selfish. Greedy, just like all the other’s that had fallen to her blade, Alduin, who become obsessed with his right to devour, Harkon who wanted to darken the sun, and… Astrid, a woman desperate to hold onto what little power she was never meant to have.

* * *

The bastard of a daedra tricked her! He didn’t tell her that giving up the Skaal knowledge would kill the old man! The Dragonborn screamed in rage, Farkas grabbed her, keeping her from flinging herself at the daedric prince.

“There’s nothing you can do!” He told her as she flailed her limbs, trying to break free of her shield brother’s grip. The shaman’s dead body feel limp on the ground and she went stock still, staring, gasping for breath, the inkling of hope that he survived stubbornly alight inside her. Frea cried, holding her father’s broken body. The word and it’s understanding were now hers. As Farkas put her down, Frea turned her grief onto the Dragonborn, gazing at her with angry eyes, telling her not to let Miraak get away with what he’d done, to not let her father die in vain, before the Skaal even finished speaking to her, the Dragonborn bolted, running from the snowy village in shame. She didn’t stop running until she got back to their campsite. What was wrong with this damned island! Treachery everywhere she looked! If not corporate greed it was a greedy dragonborn and deceitful daedric princes! She collapsed onto her bed roll, curling up into a ball. Why was this place so trying on her? She could walk the breadth of Skyrim for weeks on end and not feel this exhausted, but this ugly grey, ashen island was constantly sucking the life out of her.

_“You are tired, little dragonborn.”_ His voice was sympathetic, sweet as honey. _“You understand now.”_ Miraak continued.

_“Come to me and I can protect you from all that harshness. We can be together.”_ His voice was soft, void of the taunting edge, as though he genuinely wanted to protect her. As though his idea of protecting her wasn’t gobbling up her soul for her power.

_“I can make you feel safe.”_

Safety. It was something she hadn't had, not for a long time, not since consuming her first dragon soul. She had to make sure others were safe, Axelia didn't get to be safe.  

“I don’t think it hurts, Miraak.” She said softly, raising her head and opening her eyes, seeing that ugly landscape as before.

“You mean taking of a dragon’s soul?” He had taunted her with the question of it when he stole a dragon soul from her. The damned thing had nearly killed Farkas and Miraak just swooped in and took it like he had a right.

“Yes. But only if I’m the one that does it. You don’t respect them. They’re a means to an end to you. Tools to be used. They are mighty and glorious, they should not be worshipped, but the dragon’s at least deserve respect. I like to imagine that it is blissful when I consume their soul, a peace coming over them, because I comfort them in their death.” She felt her hatred slipping away, she could not hate him, truly. It angered her that she could not, but if that was how it was to be, then oh well. Miraak was silent, not speaking for a few moments, as though mulling over what the Last Dragonborn had said.

_“I suppose you’re right, little dragonborn. Come to me in Apocrypha, battle me and we will see. One of us will end up with the other, no matter the outcome. I may just get the privilege of being consumed by you.”_ The awful landscape faded away. But she did not wake.

_"My child.”_ The soothing voice of her Mother whispered into her dreams, _“Why are you so swayed by death?”_ She felt shame consume her. She was, after all, the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. Death like this should not bother her. But this was all so unnecessary.

_“Your soul is gentle, dear one. Lord Sithis has spoken to me… Mora intends to make you his champion. You are a daughter of Sithis, his very prized child. He does not want his daughter to be a servant to that creature. Do what you must in Apocrypha, our Dread Father will protect you.” _The Night Mother’s voice spoke affectionately.

“No matter what?” She asked, somehow freeing Miraak could play into this. The Night Mother seemed to beam, even though the Dragonborn could not see her.

_“Yes, my child. No matter what. Hermaeus Mora is no match for the Void. For the Void is what is left when knowledge is gone.” _This time, she woke peacefully, happy as though she had been tucked into bed by her loving parents and awoken to the scent of her favorite meal.

“You’re awake.” She looked up, seeing Farkas, who was sharpening the blades of Wuuthrad, not looking at her.

“Are you ashamed of me?” The Dragonborn asked, sitting up and folding her legs beneath her. Farkas shook his head.

“You did what you must, Miraak has to be stopped. The fact that shaman died is not your fault, and you had not foreseen it, based on the fact that you were about to throw hands with a daedric prince.” Farkas said, sounding amused despite the situation. The Dragonborn knew what she had to do. She stood and hugged her shield brother.

“Go home, Farkas, it’s been two months. My mission is almost over. I cannot finish it with you, so you are free to go home. I will wait here for the ship to return.” She said softly, certainly. Farkas looked like he wanted to argue, but saw the resolve in her eyes and tucked away the sharpening stone, placing Wuuthrad on his back, he began to gather his belongings. He knew there was no point in objecting. She watched and helped where she could. Then she stood in the center of their campsite as Farkas slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Be careful, Axelia.” He told her. She smiled, hardly anyone used her name nowadays. It was Harbinger this, Listener that, Dragonborn please. Even she had stopped addressing herself with the name her own father gave her.

“How old are you Farkas?” She asked before he took off. He paused, knitting his brows as she put her arms behind her back, returning to her usual soft eyes and gentle gazes.

“Vilkas and I are twenty-four, twenty-five in Midyear.” He said, Axelia smiled.

“My father died twenty-five years ago come Midyear.” She told him, finding the coincidence endearing. But it was enough, enough to remind herself of who she was, she was a human, yes she had a dragon soul. But she was a human, first and foremost. She watched Farkas leave, disappearing down the road behind a wall of rock and she turned to the tent, grabbing Waking Dreams. She had Sithis at her back. She opened it and was dragged into the realm.

The door opened and across the large platform was a word wall, guarded by two seekers, they hadn’t seen her yet. So Axelia crouched and strung her bow, she struck them down easy enough and put her bow away. The energies felt different, he was close, very close. She looked to her right, seeing a large tall platform across the ocean of gunk, a dragon was approaching, but she did not fear as she approached the word wall and absorbed its word, then quickly unlocked it with one of her dragon souls. She missed the winds of Skyrim. She wanted to go home. Feel the sun on her skin and the chill of Dawnstar in the mornings. Seren’s probably had her child by now. Axelia smiled to herself, made a mental note to bring the new family a gift when she got back. She was at peace finally.

“I’m sorry, dragonborn, I truly am. But this is the only way I can go home. We want the same thing, but we cannot both have it.” Miraak told her, throwing his voice across the expanse between them. She sensed him on that tower, the Summit of Apocrypha. She readied her bend will shout.

“What would you do if we could?” She asked Miraak softly.

“It’s best not to think about what cannot be.” He told her, his own voice actually matching her tone. He wanted it, he wanted her to be able to go back with him. He must not have lied when he told her he too had craved the companionship of another Dovahkiin. The dragon arrived and she took in a deep breath, commanding the dragon’s mind with merely three words.

“Hail, thuri!” The dragon said, she smiled a little to herself, the dragon had the goofiest face. A permanent jagged tooth smile on his face and a dopey looking set of eyes. But just like any dragon, this one was dangerous, but he was at her command. Axelia approached pressing the flat of her hand to his forehead.

“What is your name?” She asked him.

“My name is Sahrotaar, master. Now climb aboard, I will take you to Miraak.” He told her. Axelia nodded. All she had to do was weaken him, she believed. Weaken Miraak until he stopped fighting and convince him. Surely, the power of two Dovahkiin working together could free them from Apocrypha somehow. She wasn’t sure what she would do when they returned. Odahviing and Paarthurnax would definitely know the minute Miraak set foot on Skyrim, if not Solstheim. She would have to apologize; Odahviing may never forgive her, but Paarthurnax would, she believed, he was aware of her yearning for companionship. She was not sure what her Dread Father would do. Sithis was powerful, but she and Miraak were deep in Hermaeus Mora’s realm. His summit came into view and if she looked hard, she could see him watching from the platform.

“Are you so easily swayed, Sahrotaar?” Miraak asked. Axelia huffed, petting the dragon on his neck. There was an unease swelling in her stomach, that this fight would not be easy. Her battle with Alduin was… simple. He wanted to eat the world, and she wanted to save it. Miraak merely wished to be free of Apocrypha, he did not want to kill her merely because she existed, but because he had to. He needed her strength. This fight would be painful.

The dragon landed on the platform, her dragon soul calling out to him again. Miraak stood by a festering pool of green ooze, gazing at them. Axelia slid off the dragon, smoothing her hand across his strange skin. She turned back to him, petting his face with a kind smile on her face, pressing a kiss to his snout, giving a soft hum.

“Thank you, even if you didn’t have much of a choice, I appreciate you bringing me here.” She spoke softly to Sahrotaar. He gave a deep rumbly purr. “You are welcome, thu’ri.” He said.

“Enough stalling, Dragonborn, face me.” Miraak’s voice rumbled, she gave a brief look over her shoulder.

“I was not stalling, Miraak. As previously stated I respect the dragons. Would it really hurt to be grateful towards them?” She asked, approaching, her hand lingering on the dragon till her fingertips barely touched his skin. She gazed at Miraak, the drunken high of meeting one of her kind for the first time was not with her now. Still her dragon soul pulsed and churned towards him, she felt him more accepting this time, she was not sure how she felt about that.

“You are more empathetic than I, Dragonborn.” He replied, simply spanning out his arms a little in a dismissive shrug.

“You know my name, don’t you Miraak?” Axelia asked, stepping closer to him. He hummed, his voice seemed to be all around her, caressing her. The First Dragonborn was silent for a moment.

“I assume you wish for me to address you as such.” He commented. The Last Dragonborn nodded.

“It’s only respectful.” She told him. The Dragon Priest hummed.

“You have made peace, I see.” He observed, Axelia nodded.

“Then we shall fight, you will die, and I will return to Solstheim.” Miraak announced, the warrioress pulled her waraxe free of its place on her hip.

He stood, truly scared for the first time in millennia, there was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. The three dragon skeletons laid unceremoniously across the ground. She heaved her breaths, marvelous glass armor stained with his blood, face cut from the whip of his sword, the wound already festering. He was weak and broken, how could this be! How could she have beaten him? Her helmet had broken, clattered across the ground long ago, she stared at him, determined and kind. She placed her waraxe on her hip, tucking the shield onto her back, pulled forth a healing spell and cast it, the golden light glowing in her eyes.

“There’s nothing you can do, Miraak. There’s nothing else.” She said softly. How he hated it when she spoke his name, the warmth of it curling in his belly and pleading.

_Just spare her. Let her go free._ _She deserves it._ He would have to stamp it down, reminding himself of the past four thousand years of suffering he endured, waiting for another dragonborn. She had come. Not an arrogant hard headed man that no doubt thought he was already better than Miraak by having felled the World Eater, but her, a kind soft-hearted soul with a gentle gaze. Someone who had only craved the company of one who understood. And he had nearly played into it. Carefully touching her as though she were made of glass. She had no right smelling so nice, of lavender and dragon's tongue, mocking him of the world that had forgotten him. She had no business feeling so right to him. He swallowed the shout of pain as he was ran through. Poison coursed through his veins, tainting not just his blood, but his soul.

“Did you really think you could escape, Miraak? You can hide nothing from me here!” Mora scolded, enraged.

“NO!” Her scream echoed out, heard by merciless ears of the daedric prince.

“Mora, ple-”

“Axelia, no!” Miraak managed to call to her, he could use her name as she wished him to, just once. Mora threw him to the ground, broken sobs escaped her, she had fallen to her knees, staring wide eyed and shocked. She crawled, like a wild animal on all fours across the floor to him, arranging herself so that his head came to rest in her lap.

“I have a new champion. Take his soul Dragonborn, and realize your true potential” Mora announced. Miraak watched as despair melted away on her face, giving way to hot rage.

“I DON’T WANT IT! YOU GLORIFIED INFECTION! YOU COULD BURN FOR ALL I CARE! HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU USE THIS AGAINST ME?” She shrieked, voice shrill and shaking with power, more than Miraak had ever dreamed of her having, as though she was channeling Akatosh himself.

She looked around briefly, tired eyes scanning for something. He was not sure of what. There was nothing that could help them.

“Festering plague.” She whispered tiredly, turning her attention to Miraak. He watched, breathing his last painful breaths. “I never wanted knowledge. It was never about that.” She told him. He weakly reached up, barely managing to caress her face.

“I know, Axelia.” He told her. His initial rejection of her had hurt him as well, it was why Miraak could not banish her himself. As she cursed him it became easier to walk away.

“I just wanted you.” She spoke. The world around them quaked and Miraak could feel Mora’s fear. Fear from a daedra was… terrifying, what could be so bad that Hermaeus Mora himself cowered? The air remained unchanged to the naked eye, but grew heavy with power and presence and there was a smug little grin on the girl’s face.

“Dare you attempt to enslave my Listener, Hermaeus?” The voice around them was chilling, hardly a whisper but everywhere at once. “You have grown far too arrogant for your position.” The light on her face was joyous.

“Dread Father!” She called the excitement of a daughter whose father had come to save her from a bully. Sithis. It was Sithis, coming to save his prized child. Miraak almost rolled his eyes. Of course she would provoke kindness and empathy from even the Void itself.

“You attempt to steal my champion, and I will be taking yours, so that you will know the suffering you tried to thrust upon me.”

“She is not yet my champion, Sithis.” Mora said. The Void seemed to hum with smugness.

“I was not referring to my child, Mora. I will be taking the First Dragonborn from you.” Mora bristled, his tentacles trembling with rage.

“NO! You cannot do that! You great big-”

“I can and I will. Think about your actions next time. I will not be so merciful again.” The Void seemed utterly undeterred. As coolly an adult would be with a child throwing a temper tantrum. She was suddenly back at her camp. Miraak still in her arms, barely breathing, but alive. She still felt her Dread Father’s presence, comforting and terrifying all together.

“Be more wary of the paths you take, child.” Sithis warned her, his voice warm yet chilling her to the bone.

“I am sorry, Father.” She told him, realizing she should not have gotten herself so deep into trouble that only the interference of Sithis himself could save her. She felt shame in the kindness of her Dread Father. He had only spoken directly to one other mortal in history, and that was the Night Mother. To make her with child, and to have her kill those children.

“I suppose this means I owe you my service with you upon my death, now?” Axelia was not foolish.

“No, my child. You reserve the right to choose your afterlife, Mora would have taken that from you, but I will not. Akatosh’s blood is hard to resist, to daedra and mortal alike. I cannot blame you for merely seeking out another. This is my repayment, for leading my children back to glory and protecting my wife faithfully. Now hurry, for even now, his life is slipping.” She started with a jolt. Miraak was still dying, free of Apocrypha only to die before he set eyes on his home. Axelia hurried, shrugging the bag from her shoulder and dug through madly. The White Phial, where was it? It was more potent that most potions, and could stop the immediate decline of death. 

Her fingers lit on the metal decoration on the phial and she grabbed onto it, pulling it forth from her bag. Without hesitation she ripped away his mask, uncorking the phial and clumsily dumped the contents down Miraak’s throat. She did not know how to treat the wounds inflicted upon man by a daedra. There was no physical wound from Mora’s betrayal. However, blackness coursed through his veins, spider webbing across his skin. It reminded her of the bandits in White Ridge Barrow. She shuddered upon the recollection, she could almost feel the spider’s fangs in her neck. She could not take him to Neloth. He would simply prod and poke at Miraak until the man died. She cast a guardian circle around them, hoping it would help. She felt the buzz of the energy under her skin as she desperately cradled the Dragon Priest to her body. Her dragon soul reaching out to his, should they have had physical representation, hers perhaps would have nosed at Miraak’s still soul pathetically, trying to rouse it. “Please don’t leave me.” She whispered softly. She cast heal other simultaneously, feeling her magicka drain.

“Miraak, please, at least open your eyes.”


	5. Chapter 5

He woke to the hum and glow of a master level restoration spell. He smelled ash and smoke, it tickled his nose and irritated his lungs, forcing him to cough. However, it did not reek of rotting paper and slime. He was not in Apocrypha. Had her Dread Father dragged them to the Void in his servitute? Miraak opened his eyes, seeing a barely awake Axelia gazing down at him with mostly closed eyes. His body felt like lead, unwilling to move as he urged it to. 

He also realized that his mask was gone. The strange, grimy air was touching his face, particles of ash clinging to his skin in a thin grime, he scrunched up his face, actually managing to raise his hand and wipe at the disgusting film. Axelia shifted slowly, realizing slowly he had moved. How long had she been at this? 

He was not sure what to do, knowing he should not simply lie there, head in her lap staring up at her stupidly, but that was all he could do. 

“Am I now servant under your Dread Father, Axelia?” He asked. She blinked at him, wasn’t really a blink, she closed her eyes for a moment or two longer than a blink, but reopened them gazing at him. 

“No. My Father was merely repaying me for returning glory to the Dark Brotherhood.” Her voice was thick with exhaustion. 

“Then where are we?” He asked, hearing his voice crack. Thirst, it was something he had not experienced in eons. She seemed to have foreseen this, and absently offered a water skin. The eagerness to parch his burning throat gave Miraak the energy he needed to move and take her offer, he greedily drank, it was cool and crisp, setting in his core. Before he emptied the skin, he poured some of its contents across his face, nearly weeping with joy as it washed over his filthy skin. Water, he never thought he would miss it so. 

“We are in Solstheim.” Axelia told him, this caused him to freeze, lowering the skin to his side. 

“The Red Mountain… it exploded?” He remembered reading about it… he wasn’t sure exactly how long ago it was, was it that recent? Time passed strangely in Apocrypha. 

“Yes, about two hundred years ago.” She said, collapsing against her bedroll, moaning in content. Miraak ignored this as he scrambled to his feet, swallowing down the shouts of pain rising in his throat. He tore back the door to the tent and looked out. 

How ugly. Once Solstheim looked just like Skyrim, teeming with greenery and crisp wind. But he had returned. He was home, in the land that forgot him. He was… despite all his planning, unsure of what to do. The situation had changed. Whether he was happy about it or not, something in him just could not carry on with the vengeance he had been plotting for eons, not yet. He was here because Axelia had mercy on him. That and she had… damn it… she had the actual affections of Sithis himself. 

He returned to the tent, Axelia was already asleep, he hadn’t had the chance to ask her how long it had been since they came back, he did not know what to do. He did, however, know he was ravenous. He had the feeling she did not take a break to eat while healing him. Her bow was propped up against the support beam in the tent. He was hurt but he could surely hunt. What there was to hunt, he wasn’t sure. There had to be an elk or two, right? 

Grabbing the bow he felt paralysis magic at his fingertips, coursing through the dragonbone bow. She shared mentalities with the Skaal, use every part from a kill that one could. 

Miraak shed the most obvious parts of his Dragon Priest armor, not wanting to be attacked in this state by someone who could actually kill him. Just standing in his robes with a leather strip around his waist in place of his belt, without the shoulder pieces and the mask, he assumed he looked rather overdressed for a hunt, but not completely conspicuous. He strung the arrow sling over his shoulders, wincing as he clipped it into place across his chest. 

The ashen ground made moving just slightly more difficult than he cared to admit. He swept his eyes across the steep hills, looking for the form of a rabbit or an elk, anything really. Axelia had food in her bag, but he wouldn’t have felt right taking it from her. There, an elk. Snow was starting to mix with ash as it fell and he assumed most of the life had moved to the north end of the island. He carefully strung the arrow, aiming, watching as the elk pranced gracelessly across the ash. Certain he could hit the elk he unleashed the arrow. 

The creature yelped but fell to the ground, dead. He was not particularly gifted with archery, but the bow and arrows were powerful. Axelia was an incredible archer. She hadn’t used her skills in their battle, resorting to her dragonbone waraxe and that shield, no doubt gifted to her by another Daedra. Man could not forge such a shield. His magic had been ineffective against her shield. Axelia had spent an enraging amount of time hiding behind her shield from a distance as he wasted precious magicka before realizing what was happening. 

He reclaimed the used arrow and dragged the elk back to the camp. Miraak had to sit, exhausted by his trip, sweat on his brow nearly dripping into his eye. He cast a glance through the slightly askew doorway of the tent, her white-blond head bright in the grey surroundings. He returned the bow and arrows to her side and borrowed a knife. He had almost used the dagger that usually hung from her hip, but something said he shouldn’t. 

Miraak skinned the elk, not as well as he was hoping to. He was a Dragon Priest that had been stuck in a realm of Oblivion for the past four thousand years. He should not have expected a perfect outcome. By the time he had gotten a leg skewed and roasting, the strange chittering of bugs had started. He assumed that meant it was dusk. These creatures did not sound like the ones from when he walked Solstheim. 

He found that one thing had not changed, Rieklings, the damned things. They were a nuisance four thousand years ago and more than likely still were, Miraak drew his sword as the trio approached. He could take three of them. 

“Wait.” Axelia’s voice spoke softly in the dusk. How long had she been awake? He looked at her, curious as to why she didn’t want him to shoo off the vermin. She got to her feet, pushing aside the pelts hanging in the doorframe and looked out. 

“It’s my tribe.” She spoke mundanely and Miraak was baffled. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” He asked. She smiled softly, chuckling and disappeared back into the tent, bringing her bag with her when she exitted. 

“I was walking around down below the Skaal village about a month and a half ago. There was a mead hall with a Riekling standing out front, he told me to follow him. Someone had told him to speak my tongue.” She went on to explain she did some errands for the Riekling tribe and then became their chief once she was challenged. 

Miraak was still absolutely stunned that she had done this, entertained such a primal race. She sat down in the center of the semi circle and started digging through the bag, offering the scouts items of interest, actually speaking to them in their own tongue! She could learn that savage language but she hadn’t bothered with Dovahzul? It was her duty as Dragonborn to speak the language of the dragons! He bristled in silence by the fire, Axelia would say he was brooding, as he waited for the Rieklings to leave. 

“So you went out, got an elk and came back? I was half afraid you would leave.” Axelia told him as she came closer to the fire. Miraak stared at her for a moment or two, taking note of her wording. She realized what she said but Axelia did not seemed fazed.  

“Afraid?” He asked.

“Yes, I just spent two days straight healing you, I wouldn’t be very happy if all my hard work walked away without so much as a goodbye.” She told him, there was something heavy in her words. She was afraid he would continue on with his plot. Maybe he would, maybe eventually he would force them to remember, but for now that was on the back burner. 

“You spent two days trying to save the life of a man that tried to kill you?” He asked, knowing he should be grateful but she was just so… innocent. This was the slayer of the World Eater? Not only had she shed tears as he laid dying in her arms, but most definitely nearly killed herself trying to save his life. Two days… she spent two days, without sleeping, healing him of the damage Mora had done to him. Axelia did not respond to this immediately, but sat down at his side by the fire. 

“I couldn’t just let you die. You’re Dragonborn. How could I let someone that’s like me die?” She asked. Miraak didn’t say anything to this, but watched at the venison sizzled over the fire, juices dripping down from the meat hissing as they hit the heated stone of the firepit.

He ground his teeth, figuring she would demand his servitute now. She more than likely would still have Sithis at her back… 

“I assume you think I am in debt to you.” He told her, trying to make himself sound dangerous, even though he knew he did not have to try hard. She looked up at him, Axelia had strangely chosen to sit down at his side on the ground. Her eyes were bright, innocent even. There was something sickening about it. Someone so powerful yet so meek looking. She shook her head. 

“No.” She said, Miraak stared at her, the look in his eyes was borderline shocked and maybe even mocking. She looked away, an actual blush coming to her face.  

“Then what do you want?” He asked her, knowing no one did something for nothing. She looked back at him, eyes soft, yet seemingly annoyed. 

“I just… I want you to be at my side. You don’t have to stay. You’re free, Miraak. All I ask is that you do not carry on with your plot. I stopped Alduin because I like this world. I made my name in this world. You can remake yourself as well.” She told him. Miraak felt anger at this, how dare she? He spent four thousand years in Apocrypha, planning his return and she simply thought by asking him kindly he would abandon his own ambitions?! 

“You think I will just roll over and submit to your whim? I am not a lap dog, you weak minded little thing! Did you already forget it was not you that saved us but divine intervention of your precious Dread Father?” He hissed, leaping to his feet. Axelia scowled, meeting him with a deadly gaze. 

“You listen to me, you ungrateful bastard, if it were not or my so called ‘weak mind’ Sithis would not have even bothered to save us! If he had not sensed my turmoil at having to end your miserable little life my Dread Father would have let Mora take your life and give me your soul. Do  _ not  _ mistake my kindness for weakness, Miraak. My desire to have the company of a fellow Dovahkiin will not keep me from killing you if I must to protect my home!” She spat at him, standing to her feet, a promissory hand on her dragonbone war axe. 

“Whether you want to admit it or not, Miraak, I am your equal. Just… please… don’t force my hand.”

Both knew fully well that their blood had forced them into a bond that neither one of them really wanted, since it affected them so thoroughly as to nearly completely derail both of their plans. Or at least his, since Axelia seemed so content to commit to such a calm, passive life. Would a life at her side really be so bad? Clearly her passive life, despite her not actually wanting such a thing, had brought her glory. So who was to say that he could not? Miraak stepped closer to her, her gaze was warning. 

“Is it everything you imagined? Finding another Dragonborn?” He asked her. He had dreamed, obsessed even, of finding another Dragonborn stumbling through the realm of Apocrypha. But that was only so he could take their soul. 

“I never really imagined finding another Dragonborn until I found out about you. So no, not entirely. I always figured one of us would end up killing the other.” She said softly as she gazed at the dancing flames. What would he do, ultimately? Would he concede? Or would he eventually try to take over Tamriel? Would it really be so bad? With the damned Aldmeri Dominion and the useless empire, would a Dragonborn ruler be so bad? If what Frea and the Skaal told her was true, it could be. She’d keep an eye on him for as long as Miraak allowed. He didn’t seem evil, just driven. If he proved to be detrimental, Axelia would stop him as she promised, but she truly hoped she wouldn’t have to.

 


	6. Chapter 6

He went back and forth very quickly on what he wanted to do. Mainly because he didn’t know what he wanted to do anymore. This innocent Dragonborn, essentially called upon the Void itself to free them of Hermaeus Mora, which now that he thought of it, she must not be all that innocent if she was under service of Sithis.

“You are an assassin.” He said bluntly. She looked at him with gentle eyes.

“Yes.” She replied simply. “I’m simultaneously proud and ashamed. I’m a Companion was well. The Harbinger actually. And I would hate it if they found out.” She gave a quick laugh, as though trying to hide her shame.

“Nazir jokes around and says that the Dark Brotherhood is my mistress.” But there was a forlorn expression over her face. “Guess it’s kind of true. All of Skyrim knows I’m a Companion, but other than you, and the Dark Brotherhood, no one knows I’m the Listener. My shield siblings, although mostly loyal to Skyrim, all curse the person that killed Emperor Titus Mede, not knowing it was me.” She said softly. Miraak was quiet, realizing she was just giving him information he could later use against her. He had a dark and conniving mind. Maybe one day it wouldn’t be so, at least not directed towards her. As of now, she was not his enemy. However if she wished to stop him should he choose to continue with his plot in the future, Miraak would have to put an end to her. But then a delicious thought came to him. What if he could get her to join him? After all, two dragonborns at their full potential, working together would be unshakable. She had no problem killing an empire, why would she object to ruling Tamriel? Who would rise to stop them? That silly Empire? Or those foolish Thalmor? As Dragonborn, it was their right to rule. They could rule together as partners, he was more willing to admit that Axelia was his only equal than she so believed.

“Why do you have your goals set so low?” He asked her as they settled back down, Axelia had a small pout on her face. She looked up at him from the ground, her gaze was curious. “What do you mean?” She asked, knitting her brows.

“You are Dragonborn, you could crush the Empire, the Thalmor, and that foolish jarl in Windhelm without a second thought. Why commit yourself to the life you have chosen?” He asked. She frowned.

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to be Dragonborn, Miraak. I don’t want to take part in that war…” She said.

“Don’t take part in it then, just end it. You are above the silly strife of man, Axelia.” He watched her shudder, his voice still having that power over her. She drew her legs in and hugged them to her chest, hiding her face in her thighs. Miraak found this to be ridiculous, like a turtle pulling into its shell.

“I could teach you, you know.” He carried on, despite being Dragonborn, she was very... meek. Why was she so dare he say, self conscious? Axelia was his equal but she still had much to learn. Under his wing, she could become fearsome! Truly a forced to be reckoned with. The fact that she had to wait in between shouts was abysmal, the Greybeards taught her how to shout, but trained Axelia to hold back her power, Miraak half wondered if it was intentional or simply because they didn't know better. She had all the proper knowledge, she just didn’t know how to use it.

“What could you possibly teach me, Miraak?” She asked, raising her head looking him square in the eyes. He fought his own shudder, his name in her voice was just as humbling to him. He was not as immune to such things as Axelia believed.

“For starters, while petty, I could teach you to shout without having to wait.” He said. She huffed. She could not hide that look of intrigue in her eyes.

“That was always a little bit of an inconvenience.” She mumbled, neither confirming nor denying her interest in learning, all in due time. She stood, brushing herself off, and went into the tent with a short ‘don’t follow me’ over her shoulder. Axelia hoped it didn’t come across as hostile, and that Miraak’s pride would not force him to follow her to spite her, for she was simply changing out of her armor. Her arm was stiff, where Miraak had gotten a good stab in, and despite two days straight of healing, it stubbornly refused to loosen up. She did not want to think about how bad off Miraak was, having been impaled. She stripped her armor off, glass armor may have been light, but it was still armor, that’s why she preferred the Dark Brotherhood armor, it was light and comfortable. She pulled out a simple dress, pulling it on over her head, she figured if Miraak was going to kill her he would have done it by now. She stared at his mask, still discarded on the floor, now joined by his shoulder armor and that extravagant belt. She knelt and picked up the mask, gazing at it intently, rapping her knuckle against the surface. Had it always looked like this, or had it been morphed by Hermaeus Mora? She put it back down, and tidied up his abandoned armor, placing it in a corner. She got out her spare pelts from her bag and spread them out, making a spot for Miraak to rest.

The Northern Maiden would probably not be back for a few weeks. Gjaland liked to rest in between trips, so she would still be here for a while. She also figured if Miraak hadn’t left by now he wasn’t going to anytime soon. And she was fine with that. She realized with a frown her helmet was left in Apocrypha, not that it was that much of a problem, just malachite was hard to find. She’d have to go to the Forgotten Vale, it was rich in malachite and moonstone. But she wanted to rest first. Get back to Skyrim and just rest. She wasn’t sure if she would return to the Companions or the Dark Brotherhood immediately; she had the Lakeview Manor in Falkreath that would serve as a good place to stay.

“I made you a place to rest inside the tent.” She told Miraak as she left the tent. Axelia sat back down on the ground at his side. He had not looked like she had thought, even if she hadn’t given it that much thought in the first place. If he tried, he could almost look kind. His mouth was downturned in a thoughtful frown as his dark eyes watched the fire. Being in Apocrypha hadn’t had much effect on his appearance, the dark color of his eyes could be natural. Most Nords had light blue eyes, the she saw the occasional warm brown eyes; properly compared to the color of a fine ale or mead. He still wore his hood, so she couldn’t really see his hair, but judging by the dark wisps curling over his forehead, his hair could be black or brown.

“The fire is nice.” She said softly, feeling tired again, Axelia figured she wouldn’t feel completely rested until she got into a decent bed.

She had the house in Raven Rock, but she wasn’t too keen to sleeping in a building she had personally killed two people, she used it for storage and to forge arrows if Mallory was using his smithy. Miraak hummed in reply, enjoying the silence between them, even if there was a strange wailing of some unknown creature in the distance. This truly was not his Solstheim. But it was better than feeling the overbearing presence of Mora watching over them every time the two of them were in the same general area. She walked across the ashen ground, keeping a wary eye for ash spawn. They were trivial now, her own ability to handle them was well, but that was not the only reason why. Miraak was slowly trudging behind her, but swooping into action the second an enemy arose. For instance, he had made quite easy work of that trio of Morag Tong now lying dead behind them.

“Why did they want you dead?” He asked her, sheathing his strange sword.

“I think it has something to do with the Dark Brotherhood, it’s not an ‘official’ assassination society, so they try to take me out occasionally. Or something of the like, I never pay much attention to the letters.” She said, wrapping the travelling cloak a little tighter around her shoulders.

“Funnily enough, I had been in Skyrim for a while before I joined the Dark Brotherhood. Actually on my way to meet a boy I heard about in Windhelm, one of their members attacked me, a lady Argonian. I apologized to Veeza-”

The mention of the kind Argonian made her tear up. He did not deserve that death, none of them did… Astrid excluded. She actually hadn’t noticed was happened to Festus until she went looking for Shadowmere after an unfortunate accident with that group of bandits near her home in Falkreath. It had been the smell of rotting flesh that caused her to find him. She had fallen to the ground, screaming in horror. Nothing she had done under the service of the Dark Brotherhood could even compare to the cruelty of tying a man to a tree and firing hundreds of arrows at him. She didn’t even kill the girl in Windhelm for Muiri. She couldn’t justify taking a woman’s only remaining daughter away from her. When she killed Gaius Maro it was a quick decapitation. She got away with it, being Balgruuf's thane, but it was not a cruel death. Axelia had pulled the many, many arrows from Festus’s corpse, dug a grave and buried him, as she did with the other members of the Dark Brotherhood.

“Axelia?” Miraak asked, pulling her forth from her thoughts. She looked at him, perhaps half startled. She had been talking about an assassination attempt on her life with almost an affectionate tone in her voice and then she just stopped, eyes distant and horrified. Miraak did not know much of her activity before killing Alduin. He didn’t know what kind of hardships Axelia had endured.

“I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to get caught up in my thoughts…” She said, looking away shamefully. Miraak stood a few feet away from her, back ramrod straight because he didn’t know what to do. He was not used to people being… emotionally… vulnerable around him. Usually it was all guarded glances and uneasy body language. Even when he was a Dragon Priest. Because they _knew_. They knew he was better than them. But Axelia, again, being so comfortable with a man who literally tried to kill her, only a week ago, just- she both confused and intrigued him. She tripped on the bone of a dragon wing, nearly falling over but managing to catch herself. Before they had just been dragon skeletons, she hadn’t known why they were there, but they were disrespectfully disposed of, but she realized as she looked up she was with the man that put them there. She wasn’t sure if he was frozen or if he just didn’t care, his face didn’t read very well, since he hardly emoted. She gazed at the dragon’s skull, a creepy eternal smile gazed back at her. She remembered leafing through the Guardian and the Traitor on the way to Solstheim with Farkas.

“What was that battle like?” She asked, wondering if it really had been powerful enough to sever Solstheim from Skyrim or if that was just legend. Miraak stared at her for a moment, lips drawn together, almost in a pout.

“I hardly remember it.” He told her. Axelia knew he was lying. It may have been four thousand years ago. She could live to be four thousand years old just like him and she would never forget their battle, or the battle with Alduin. Nor would she forget the feeling of her lungs searing as she inhaled smoke to save her dark brothers and sisters. There were some things you just didn’t forget.

“Was Solstheim really a part of Skyrim? Or has it always been an island?” She asked, figuring at least that was safe to ask. Miraak gave a wicked little smile. She didn’t like that.

“I won’t tell.” Axelia gaped at him, shocked, this caused that smile of his to twist, revealing teeth as he laughed.

“Why not!” She asked, that was literally the only thing she really wanted to know about the battle and he wasn’t going to tell her!

“The extent of my power is set in that battle, little dragonborn.” He told her, a playful little spark in his eyes and Axelia wanted to smack him upside his head. She crossed her arms over her chest and shut her mouth, teeth clacking together.

“Alright then I’ll just assume Vahlok did it, who I defeated myself, by the way. What does that say about me?” She told him, Miraak’s light expression dropped from his face like lead. Axelia took a step back, dropping her arms to her side. Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned the other Dragon Priest. Let alone ending him herself. He ground his teeth, looking at her with a deadly expression, but merely turned and went back in the direction of the camp. Axelia stood, silent, rubbing the back of her neck unsurely. At least he didn’t attack her. Axelia didn’t know what kind of relationships the Dragon Priests had. Miraak was the last surviving one not in lich form. She’d killed almost all of them.

She followed him, probably not the best idea, but still. He wasn’t outside so she went into the tent and found him lying on his mat with his back to the entrance. She sat down on the her mass of pelts, crossing her legs.

“How did Dragon Priests treat each other, before all the bad things that happened?” She asked, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. Miraak was quiet. She messed up.

“I’m sorry… Miraak. This- this must not be easy. Coming back after so long. Everything’s different. The people you knew are gone and I’m sorry.” She said, realizing that perhaps explaining his own emotions to him was pretentious.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t left yet. Because if he left her, there wouldn’t be anyone he knew. But why would he care? Before he was going to return and force the people of Tamriel to remember him. Why had that changed? He wanted to rule the world, and theoretically speaking, by the end of that, everyone would know who he was.

“But you have me.” It had popped out of her mouth even though she had no intention of saying it. Although she did mean it. She turned red and slapped her hands over her mouth, surprised. She felt her stomach churn. To this he did react, turning his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder. Axelia was afraid of what he would say, what he would do. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling her he didn’t need her. That’s not how he felt, but it was a knee jerk reaction. It was his habit to tell people he didn’t need them. He was proud and independant and he didn’t need people. He looked at her, seeing her shocked expression, though there was sincerity in her eyes. It softened him some. He wasn’t quite sure how such a gentle person had been saddled with such a fierce soul as that of a dov’s.

“I appreciate it.” He told her simply, forcing himself to be as open as she was. She raised her eyes to him, having been staring in embarrassment at the floor of their tent, hands clamped tight over her mouth. Although, compared to him, she was; she seemed young, her gentle soul and naive outlook on things. As though the world hadn’t completely beaten her down yet, she was still young and supple, like a young tree, able to be bent, yet hard to snap and one day she would stand, immovable and proud. But she did snap at Apocrypha, shrieking at a daedric prince as though he was merely a self entitled patron at a tavern giving her a hard time. Solstheim had pushed her to her very limits. Miraak knew, the moment she set foot on his island why she had come, even if Axelia didn’t knew her true reason, he did. He knew it was to reach out to a fellow Dovahkiin, even if it meant risking her life; and how her risks paid off.


	7. Chapter 7

So they spent their days, walking around on the little island, or sitting by the fire at night, sometimes talking, others just remaining in silence. She had even taken him to that tavern she mentioned, where her tribe of Rielkings lived. They avoided Raven Rock and the Skaal village however, or at least he did. The duo was not sure of how his previous actions, taking over their will, had affected them, if the people of the settlement would recognize him or not.

Axelia watched Miraak as he sat up from his sleeping mat, she had been getting her hair ready for the day braiding her hair out of her face. He winced as he did so. He could do healing of his own, but Miraak did not seem too keen to utilize it. 

“Are you alright?” She asked. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. His mask had long since been abandoned. She assumed it was because that had become an icon of his imprisonment. Instead of saying anything to her, he merely pulled his robe away, revealing a massive, ugly black spot where Mora had ran him through in Apocrypha. She gasped in horror. It seemed to pulse disgustingly under his skin. She almost reached out to touch and investigate, but stopped herself. She couldn’t be going around touching Miraak without his permission. That and she was half afraid by merely touching that ugly black spot it would spread to her. 

“Is it an infection?” She asked, infections were bad news. Miraak huffed, smiling softly. Apparently he was amused with her concern.  

“Of sorts. A parting gift from Mora I assume. It only hurts occasionally.” He told her, tying his robe back into place. 

“I spent two days healing you that should have been gone!” She said disdainfully as he stood. Again he smiled, as though charmed by her upset. 

“The magic of mere men can only do so much against a daedra.” He cast some healing magic. 

“I think the healing keeps it at bay, but yours nor mine will be enough to make whatever this is go away completely.” He told her. She frowned, knitting her brows in distress, her lower lip trembling. Miraak raised a brow at her. Was she already this attached to him? How? More like why? 

“This can kill you, can’t it?” Axelia asked. Miraak didn’t say anything but nodded solemnly. He swore he could see tears in her eyes. He briefly wondered why it mattered to her so much whether he lived or died. But he knew the truth. Dovahkiin did not feel truly welcome with the dragons or the mortals. As soon as this awkwardness between them melted away, he knew, unfortunately, they would be inseparable. That’s why he had get her to see things his way. Axelia may not hold him to it, but he owed her his life. He may be arrogant, but he knew his place when it came to her. 

“We just have to keep on top of it. A good healing session a day should keep in under control.” He told her. How could she be so innocent? What stood before him, with big wet eyes at the thought of his death, was an assassin, capable of killing the World Eater. He wanted to shake his head at it, but he thought maybe her innocence was why she was mentally capable of killing Alduin when Miraak himself had not been. Alduin had made too much sense to him. 

“Alright, do you want me to help? Perhaps our power combined would better combat it?” She asked. Her desperate two day straight healing binge had been what kept the injury bearable for as long as it had. He sighed, feeling the wound burn. It couldn’t hurt. So he nodded and almost instantly she cast her healing magic. It felt pleasant. Healing yourself verses having someone do it for you had two different effects. He preferred the latter really. Axelia’s magic was pure and comforting, while Miraak’s had been tainted by Mora in a way that he figured would never fully fade. 

It took about an hour but the hot pulsing feeling in his chest had shrunk, from the size of a serving platter to about the size of a man’s fist. Miraak knew that was as good as it would get. For that was how he woke after her desperate attempt to save him. Axelia pulled back, going back over to her pack and pulling out a bottle. 

“Here, drink this too, it’s more potent than normal potions.” She said, offering it to him. Miraak was not sure what it was but he knew she wouldn’t try to poison him. He took it gently from her hands rolling over in between his, watching the liquid slosh below the opaque surface. 

“I gave it to you when we first got back from Apocrypha. It’s the White Phial. Are you familiar with it?” She asked, the name was vaguely familiar. He was sure he’d read about it at least once. Miraak had read about everything at least once. He gave another sigh and uncorked the bottle, then simply downed the contents in a few swallows. Axelia had went out to meet the Dunmer mage that had been poking around. His voice was grating and the way he punctuated every word made Miraak want to punch him in the throat. 

“You’re hiding something from me, little girl. I want to know what it is.” Axelia had told Miraak the elf’s name was Neloth. He had been the one to tell her about Miraak’s temple. 

“If I was hiding something from you, why would I confess to hiding it from you?” She asked, her soft, wispy voice thinly veiling her sarcasm. 

Her voice was something that drove Miraak mad. She sounded downright weak when she spoke, her words breathy and soft, verbal silk. Light and airy. And then she shouted. Be it a thu’um, her war cry, or just a raised voice, she could effectively silence anyone. Well, not anyone. 

“Are you really going to go against a House Telvanni mage? You don’t know what you’re doing, stupid girl.” The elf spat hatefully. Miraak quirked a brow, debating on whether or not he should intervene. Silence the damn elf and prove him right or help Axelia keep up appearances. 

“Neloth! I am the Dragonborn! Whether I am hiding something or not is not your business. I have had it with you speaking to me as though I were a mere maggot. I felled Alduin the World Eater. I demand your respect, you damned elf! I’ll run about Solstheim for you all you want as long as you respect me. But keep up this entitled little air of yours and you’ll find yourself down a very handy ally and gained an incredibly bad enemy to have. Am I clear?” There it was. That’s how she should speak all the time. Let people know her power by merely speaking. Axelia seemed to have that handled, so Miraak sat back down, wrapping an arm around his rib cage as it dully throbbed. 

The thought to go see an actual healer crossed his mind. But from what he could tell, Axelia was a master healer, casting Guardian Circle one after another like it was nothing.  He wasn’t sure if she knew the intricacies of healing though. Miraak listened to the Dunmer sputter and scoff in offense, however he could tell Neloth knew he had been beaten. 

Axelia had a very long rope. Taking her time and slowly doing what she needed to to accomplish the goal she desired. To have her snap at someone must have meant they had been bothering her for a very long time and not giving anything in return. He was sure Neloth lent her a hand occasionally, but something in her voice said he was walking a very thin line. Miraak wondered what it would take for her to snap like that with him.

She watched Neloth slink away with wounded pride. She pinched the bridge of her nose with a huge sigh. She was tired. She wanted to go home to Skyrim and sleep in her bed at Dawnstar, Jorrvaskr or the Lake View Manor. Any of the three really. It didn’t matter, just a firm, warm bed that didn’t shift constantly as she slept through the night. 

He woke the next morning to her gathering her belongings, carefully tucking things away as she quietly scurried around the camp. 

“Ship’s here, if you want to come with me to Skyrim.” Axelia told him. They hadn’t really discussed Miraak’s further actions. He blinked at her, never really being a morning person, but drowsily rose from his bed. Miraak gathered the furs and shook the ash from them, then folded them neatly and gave them to Axelia for safe keeping, seeing as he didn’t have his own storage. 

“So you’re coming with me?” She asked simply, a subtle hint of hope in the lilt of her voice. He nodded, his drowsiness still with him. If he wanted to take over the world, he would have to know how it worked before he started his conquest again. Miraak couldn’t think of a better way to familiarize himself than at her side. And it would help him chip away at her resolve. Miraak would turn her over to his side if it was the last thing he did. Such a powerful being had no business not taking what was rightfully hers. Skyrim owed her everything. By slaying the World Eater, she essentially owned the world herself.  It was hers to choose what to do with it. Miraak would help her understand that in due time 

Miraak kept his head down, knowing he had not shown his face to any of the colonists, but didn’t want to take the risk. His mask was tucked in her bag, he had donned the shoulders of his armor but Axelia had remained in dresses since she changed after Apocrypha. She preferred simple looking clothes. 

“First thing I want to do is go see Paarthurnax and Odahviing. Hopefully they won’t be too upset about me not killing you. He’s not like Delphine and Esbern though…” she mumbled. So the dragons wanted him dead? He wasn’t surprised. Especially Odahviing. He remembered Odahviing, a right arrogant dragon, his ego rival to even Miraak’s. 

“You’ve got Odahviing under your thumb? How do you manage that?” Miraak asked as they walked out onto the docks, he took in a deep breath, he had always liked the scent of ocean air. There was something electrifying about it. 

“My thu’um is not as weak as you would believe, my friend.” Axelia said, dropping a coin purse in the shop captain’s hand and trotting on board, Miraak met the captain’s weary gaze as he followed her on board. She was careful not to use Miraak’s name around the citizens. 

“I thought we took back her friend two weeks ago?” One sailor said to another. 

“We did, she’s picked up another one apparently.” The second muttered back. Miraak didn’t pay them much mind, he followed her down below deck and into a private room away from the main quarters. 

“Odahviing was the one that took me to Skuldafn.” She told him. Miraak remembered the place.  He had been only a few times, before it was sealed off to man because of their revolution. Axelia sat down on the ground, rummaging through her bag and pulled out a bottle of mead, then shamelessly drank. He smiled, amused. 

“I got drunk on the way, it was not a good decision.” She said, Miraak sat down next to her, his arms resting on his knees. 

“Why did you get drunk? You don’t seem like the type to not know your limit.” He asked her. She smirked, offering him the bottle. He gazed at it for a moment, then took the offered drink. 

“My dragon soul and my human mind were both being idiots. I was being an idiot.” She said simply. He laughed softly. He wondered what about. Miraak didn’t have to ask however.

“Didn’t want to kill you. You were the only other person that knew. I was so upset you wanted to kill me, you didn’t even know me and you wanted me dead.” She said softly. They hadn’t touched on that subject all that much after the first day.  

“You took down my stones, why wouldn’t I want you dead?” He asked quietly, and dare he say, gently. Her eyebrows raised. 

“No, the whole reason why I even came to Solstheim was because your cultists attacked me in Skyrim.” Axelia argued. Miraak frowned. 

“What? I never did such a thing, I do not have lackeys do my dirty work.” He argued. It dawned on them simultaneously. 

“Mora sent them.” She stated. Miraak nodded somberly. Hermaeus really had been pulling strings the whole time. They looked at each other. They truly had no reason to hate one another. Axelia sighed, allowing her eyes to drift shut and rested her head against his shoulder. He allowed her to, gently sloshing the liquid in the bottle in his hand. 

“Would you have sought me out if you managed to escape?” She asked. Miraak gazed at the bottle, refusing to make eye contact, this little situation was… tender enough as is. He was blushing madly but couldn’t bring himself to shrug her off. 

“If you stood in my way, I suppose.” He told her truthfully. Axelia hummed. 

“I guess we never would’ve met then.” She said softly. Really, as long as Miraak didn’t cross paths with the Dark Brotherhood or the Companions, she wouldn’t have cared if another Dragonborn was trying to take over Tamriel. Well, if he bothered Odahviing or Paarthurnax she would’ve knocked his head clean off, so maybe their meeting was inevitable. Miraak wouldn’t just leave two supposedly easy targets alone. 

“Would you have attacked Odahviing and Paarthurnax?” She asked. Miraak hummed this time, deciding not to answer for he remained silent. So yes. 

“You care about them, don’t you?” He asked her. She nodded.

“Sahrotaar was your mount, wasn’t he?” Axelia replied. Miraak gave a huff. 

“Yes, but he was also a tool to be used. He served his purpose.” Axelia winced, he had a cruel way of thinking. 

“I won’t stand in your way, should you ever chose to restart your conquest, but leave Odahviing and Paarthurnax alone.” She warned. They were hers, they were her family. She would not let Miraak hurt them. To be honest, with the awful leaders in place in this day, letting Miraak take over the world didn’t seem like all that bad of a thing. His self serving ways can only do so much harm. A bloated rotting corpse of an Empire and the shady Thalmor could do much more damage. 

Her compliance for the price of two dragons? Fine. Her dragons were safe then. 

“What of your families?” Miraak asked. 

“The Companions might try something, but I could keep them under control. The Dark Brotherhood has survived by keeping its head under the cover, only to come out occasionally.” She said. 

“And should someone appoint your dark family to kill me?” Miraak asked. She was quiet about this. She served Sithis, to not fulfil a contract given by the Night Mother was breaking a tenement. 

“I don’t know.” She spoke innocently, meaningfully. 

“I’ll pray it never comes to that.” Axelia continued. Her companion nodded. 

He wasn’t worried. Well, perhaps about the Dark Brotherhood, but if Miraak had his way, Axelia would be right there at his side. He owed Sithis as much as he owed Axelia, Miraak didn’t like it but it was true. No matter what her Dread Father told her, the Void would call upon them again someday. 

As they stepped off the bridge leading into Windhelm, Axelia’s gaze rose to the Throat of the World. She gave a small squint, chewing thoughtfully on her lip, then made a decision.

“I want to go to Dawnstar before we head to High Hrothgar. There’s a couple I’m friends with, and the Dark Brotherhood is there. I’ve been away from them longer than I have the Companions.” She said, turning and starting to walk down the path. Miraak, however stood still at the bridge, gazing almost unbelieving at the sight that laid ahead of him. Skyrim, sprawling out gloriously in the sun of the midday, the brightness of the light reflecting off of the snow nearly blinding him. He’d forgotten just how damned bright the sun truly was. He could smell the flowers blooming stubbornly in the cold, the freezing air dried his lips so badly it felt they would crack open and bleed. Miraak did not care. This, this was what he remembered Solstheim like, this was what he missed. 

Axelia turned, noticing Miraak was not with her, fearing that he had bolted in a different direction than she. Axelia found him standing still as snowflakes gently floated up from the ground in the breeze, twirling around him. He looked nice in the robes they bought in Windhelm, she had used the smithy to forge him a few array of weapons, and bought him a new staffl. If he proved trustworthy she would give him the Staff of Magus.

She approached him again, softly speaking his name, seeing his gaze far off and distant. She’d almost say he looked emotional. He looked at her, eyes uncharacteristically gentle and Axelia felt overwhelmed by the sudden tenderness Miraak was exhibiting. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, shifting her weight between her feet. He looked away from her, hanging his head, his breath puffing out in a cloud as Miraak heaved a great sigh. Then he smiled softly. 

“Yes. Won’t you show me your Skyrim?” He asked. Axelia shuddered at just how intimately he phrased it, but she nodded, glad that he was starting to embrace this life.


	8. Chapter 8

The road to Dawnstar was frigid as it always was. She bundled up, having grown accustomed to the warm ashy air of Solstheim, but some of the chill still managed to get through. She’d like a nice cup of tea.

“What year is it?” Miraak asked, she looked at him at her side, doing the math in her head, she didn’t cross paths with calenders all that much.

“The two hundred and second year of the fourth era.” She told him. Miraak looked around.

“Not much has changed I must say.” He told her. Axelia smiled a little.

“If it’s not broke it doesn’t need to be fixed.” She said simply. He smiled a little, finding her quip to be amusing.

Somehow it got even colder. Miraak shivered, pulling his robes tighter around him. Apocrypha had been humid and the air so thick he nearly choked with every breath he took. The air of Skyrim was crisp and cut his lungs. It was a blessed and welcome feeling. The roar of the ocean wasn’t far off and a group khajiit camped by the side of the road. A joyous shout came from Axelia and she sprinted forward.

“KHARJO!” She wailed out a name, the one with white fur and long tufts on his triangle ears turned, smiling.

“Ah! There she is! My trusted friend! We have not seen you in months! Where have you been?” The cat asked as Axelia all but threw herself into his welcoming arms.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you! I missed you so!” She replied. Not much of a Nord was she? Anyone else who lived through the fantastical events of the past two months would be spouting it every chance she got.

_“I defeated the First Dragonborn and tricked Hermaeus Mora! I am the true Dragonborn!”_

But alas, she did not. She hopped down from the trader’s embrace and smiled up at him. So deceivingly innocent. Was she really so deceiving though? Only reason why The Dark Brotherhood contacted her was because she was trying to help a demented little boy find some peace. She was kind, at her core. Miraak hardly understood. Such a powerful person, leading such a soft existence.

After Mora killed the shaman, Miraak couldn’t help but comfort her. He couldn’t keep from promising to protect her. In a moment of weakness he had offered being with her to Axelia, and she hadn’t wanted it. It almost hurt him, as though someone stabbed into him with a blade fresh off the forge. She hadn’t wanted him in all his power. Unlike her he only found himself looking inwards at her rejection, to look at himself. He didn't like it. He didn’t like feeling like maybe there was something wrong with him. But he never directed the resulting hatred towards her as Axelia had done with him.

She presented the Khajiits with gifts, refusing their money when they thought it was a trade.

“I don’t need it, these are gifts. If I see you selling these I’m going to be very hurt, you understand? I made some of these myself!” She said to the traders.

“All is understood, kind one, the blades you have gifted us will protect our lives, and our wares.” Kharjo told her, resting a paw on her shoulder. Axelia smiled happily.

“Who is travelling with you? He seems unfriendly.” Kharjo asked, sending his gaze towards Miraak who had gravitated towards the opposing side of the road when Axelia left his side. She looked to him with a little smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes. She chuckled as Miraak crossed his arms over his chest.

“He isn’t really. Suppose I’ve just got a soft spot for hard hearted men.” She told Kharjo, Miraak grumbled. She turned back to the khajiit, they spoke for a few more moments while Miraak waited; then she returned to Miraak. She had this brilliant smile on her face. He could see how she had missed these people, he saw the joy in her eyes at getting to see them again. What was it like to become so invested in these normal people? How could Axelia see these people and think about being equals with them? They were beneath her.

“I want to talk to the blacksmith and his wife. They had a baby quite recently, I believe.” She told him. Miraak huffed, but followed her into town. It was a sleepy little port, with a single ship at its dock and a rowboat across the channel, a tent for the boat’s owner on the shore near some rocks and scraggly bushes. The buildings were arranged in two rows, one on the shore and the other raised up behind it. The clanging of pickaxes rang from two mines on opposite sides of the town. The hissing and banging of steel came from a building on the shore and Miraak assumed this was his companion’s destination.

“Rustleif! Seren!” She called, bounding forward across the snow and up the stairs, disappearing behind the corner on the porch. Miraak slowed, taking in his surrounds a little more. It was a sunny day, a few clouds in sight, perhaps attempting to gather and bring snow. The air was salty and just below the sound of the tide Miraak heard the occasional splash of a fish in the shallows. A boy scurried by, carrying a pot wrapped in rags, apologizing for nearly running into Miraak, faltering for a moment once he realized just how big Miraak was. A slight fear shone in the boy’s eyes before he hurried on. That didn’t faze Miraak much, he was used to being feared.

He had been one of the more benevolent rulers, living up to his name, guiding his people carefully, staying his hand, striking only when he had to. But he hungered for more than his small slice. Just because he had wanted to rule didn’t mean he wanted to abuse.

A Redguard woman came around the corner, an eager Axelia following her and the two women disappeared into the house. Miraak crossed his arms over his chest. He wondered if had he not been denied this kind of life if he would have found it as trivial.

Seren and Rustleif’s boy had a strange light grey skin tone, not like that of the Dunmer, but he was precious all the same! A handsome looking little man despite it, with his father’s eyes. Axelia held the little bundle happily. She wondered if she would get to have a few of her own one day. She completely intended on adopting a few of the orphans out of Honorhall, but ever since she was a girl, she wanted to know what it was like to have her own. What was it like to have a something that was of both her, and the person she loved. Women always told her it was a horrible but rewarding experience. Seren had been miserable during her pregnancy, but Axelia always felt like it had to do something with the cold.

The door opened and Rustleif stuck his head in, looking slightly perturbed.

“Uhh, Axelia your… friend, is he? He’s wanting to know how long you’ll be.”

Axelia gave a scowl, then gently bounced the baby boy in her arms briefly and returned him to his mother.

“I’ll come by for a visit without him one day. I don’t know why he’s in a rush.” She told Seren, exiting the house and seeing Miraak leaning against the railing near the smithy. She gave him a fowl look.

“You wanted me to show you Skyrim. That takes a while, there’s no need to rush.” She told him, crossing her arms over her chest and giving a small stamp of her foot. He studied her for a moment, then gave a cocky side grin.

“What was in there that had you so interested anyways?” He asked, starting down the stairs as she did.

“They just had a child. I was meeting their son.” She said. “I’m close to them.” Axelia added on. Miraak gave an amused chuckle.

“I should have guessed you would have a fondness of infants.” He told her, earning quite the punch from Axelia as she blushed horribly. He nearly yelped, apparently her fists were just as capable as her weapons! She struck hard! He’d be sore come morning! What a brute she was! He scoffed trying to play off his pain, rubbing his arm where she had hit him.

“Here. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to enter, but we can try.” She said, stopping as they slipped out of sigh of the town. Miraak saw the black door, a skull intricately engraved in the old metal. A strange door in the least. Axelia unexpectedly took his hand in hers and he jumped away, looking at her in shock. Axelia’s eyes were wide with shock and she gazed at him confused.

“What?” She asked. He’d let her rest her head on his shoulder. He hadn’t been terribly surprised by that. Miraak took in a quick breath, feeling his own face heat up in embarrassment. Axelia still gazed at him.

“Nothing, I just wasn’t expecting that.” He told her, crossing his arms over his chest. She smiled at him.

“My apologies then. Here, wait outside. I’ll go in and talk to them. If you get bored you can go to the inn and see if there’s something there.” She offered. Miraak grumbled, her words feeling just a smidge too much like orders, but knowing the woman Miraak knew she hadn't intended such a thing.

The door creaked open and shut and Axelia disappeared into what Miraak assumed to be a cave system beyond.

“LISTENER!” Cicero’s shrill and exuberant voice greeted her as she entered the main chamber of the sanctuary. Axelia smiled, accepting the Keeper’s unexpectedly bone crushing hug.

“You have returned! Oh Mother, look! The Listener has returned!” Cicero bleated excitedly towards the old corpse. Axelia gazed at the relic gratefully. The Night Mother offered comfort to Axelia while she was struggling in Solstheim. For that she would be grateful until the end of her days.

“Axelia’s returned? Cicero, bring her down here!” Nazir’s familiar voiced called up from the downstairs room. Axelia smiled at Cicero.

“Let me go, friend.” She said and he listened perhaps a smidgen reluctant. Axelia nodded at the Night Mother and then went downstairs, smiling at her dark family.

“We have been worried, Listener. Would you regale us of your adventure?” Nazir asked from the fireplace, putting a tea kettle on.

“I’ve got a friend, well a follower more like waiting outside, I can’t stay long in fear of him wandering off.” Axelia said, taking a seat at the table. Nazir looked at her with a curious expression.

“Is he wise to your… loyalties?” He asked.

“Sithis himself intervened and aided in my friend’s deliverance. He knows.” She answered, Nazir nodded.

“Would he be a good initiate? I would hope so considering you brought someone who is otherwise an outsider to our home.” He said. Axelia scowled at him even though she knew he was right.

“Miraak is trustworthy, but I don’t think he’d be interested in being an assassin.” She advocated. However she wasn’t perfectly sure of that. But she couldn’t think of anything Miraak could gain from wiping out the Dark Brotherhood, and Miraak didn’t seem to be the type to do something if he couldn’t benefit from it. He also knew if he wanted to he’d have to go through Axelia first.

“I hope you are right. We can’t survive another total loss, Listener.” Nazir said, standing as the kettle began to whistle.

“I’ll be here to stop it if he tries anything. I could’ve saved them if I hadn’t been in Solitude.” Axelia said, trying to hide the thickness in her voice. She was the Listener. She should have wrenched away power Astrid had the minute Axelia was chosen. Their siblings would still be alive if she had just listened to Cicero. Astrid and Arnbjorn wouldn’t have been happy, but the others would have adjusted. They would have been alive. Axelia had been nothing but loyal to Astrid. Never once did she question Astrid, she would have followed the woman to her death. She almost did. When she was named Listener she only thought that her duty was to receive jobs for the Dark Brotherhood. She’d had no interest in leading it. If Astrid had actually talked to her about it instead of almost immediately trying to figure out how to get rid of Axelia she would’ve known that.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Axelia, it isn’t your fault.” Nazir said, placing a cup down in front of her. She heaved a sigh, looking around the room, taking account of the things she had, instead of focusing on what she had lost. She took a drink from her tea, lavender, it made her eyes heavy.

“We’re glad you’re home, Axelia.” He said earnestly, a paternal look in his eyes. She smiled at him kindly.

The door groaned open and Axelia slipped out. Miraak watched her, he stayed near the door, fought a horker or two out of boredom and then returned to the suspiciously bloodstained nook and sat down next to the nightshade plant to keep the harsh wind from cutting through him. She smiled at him and offered a cup of tea.

“Should help you warm up. Why didn’t you go to the inn?” She asked, taking a seat next to him, neatly folding her legs as she sat.

“Didn’t want to.” He told her, taking the cup and warming his fingers. She conjured a flame spell, wondering why he hadn’t done this himself. Miraak was a gifted mage and a smart man. Did he let himself nearly freeze in attempt to pout? He didn’t seem too terribly bothered by being left outside.

“Where are we headed to after this?” He asked, taking a drink.

“I want to go talk to Odahviing and Paarthurnax. So we’re headed to the Rift. I can’t wait to get somewhere warm.” She said. Miraak chuckled.

“Is there a warm place in Skyrim these days?” He joked. Axelia stuck her tongue out at him, trying to hide the smile spreading across her cheeks.

“A warmer place.” She replied. Miraak nodded. Silence fell over them and she found it to be comfortable rather than the awkward ones that usually befell them.

“When are we headed out?” He asked. Axelia raised her gaze, looking up at the sky, gauging the sun.

“We can be in Whiterun by sundown if we leave now. Do you want to head out or rest for the day?” She asked. Miraak looked at her. If he was being honest he could use a little more rest. His ribs ached. His entire torso felt like it was on fire. He stretched, trying to negate the pain subtly. Axelia however, had fantastic perception.

“Are you okay?” She asked. He made a face. Of course he was okay. He struggled for thousands of years in Apocrypha, he could survive this. She cast her healing magic over him, her eyes dark with worry. He thanked her. The pain eased up, replaced by a pleasant buzz that he knew would disappear as soon as she was done. This wasn’t going to kill him, no matter how frightened Axelia was about it. Miraak refused to let this kill him.

She offered him her hand with a small smile. Miraak took it, he wasn’t going to be an ungrateful ass, but on the other hand he wanted to see if she could actually heft him off the ground. Impressively she could. She smiled up at him, patting his arm.

“Think you can manage the trip?” She asked. He looked around, heaving a sigh.

“You can borrow Shadowmere.” She suggested. Miraak frowned, leaning down, fighting a wince and picking up his bag and slinging it into place.

“Don’t you coddle me, little dragonborn.” He told her. She smiled at him and nudged Miraak in the arm.

“I’ll coddle you all I want, old man, over four thousand years old, your hip could shatter at any moment, just take the wrong step, I dare you.” Axelia told him with a teasing grin. He glowered at her and then set off towards town. Axelia laughed at him.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miraak, did I strike a nerve! You’re a wonderful, capable man. Your bones are not fragile!” She called after him over the wind and ocean, nearly overcome with giggles.

“I can sense the mockery in your voice, Axelia.” He told her, fighting a smile.


	9. Chapter 9

Being in the Rift always put a spring in her step, the hold’s colors and its crisp air never failed to revitalize her. She was practically skipping through the trees.

“Could we take a quick break?” Miraak huffed from behind her. Well that changed her mood, in a heartbeat actually. She turned on her heel staring at her companion worriedly. Miraak looked flushed, very subtly clutching his side. Axelia nodded at him. Miraak returned it and merely went over and leaned his shoulder against a nearby tree with a few panting breaths. He’d been doing so well. The only reason Axelia even remembered he was still hurt was the fact that she was constantly trying to find a way to fix him. They had come to the Rift for this very reason. They were going to go speak to the vigilants at Stendarr’s Beacon. Odahviing and Paarthurnax had slipped from her mind.

Axelia approached him and fell to the ground in a cross legged fashion, pulling her bag from her back and starting to go through it. At this point, Miraak should just keep the damned thing with him. She pulled the White Phial from her bag and offered it up to him.

“You should sit down. Can’t properly rest if you’re standing.” She suggested. Miraak sighed, sliding down to the ground. There was a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. That was concerning.

“This feels like we’re only prolonging the inevitable.” She mumbled under her breath.

“Unfortunately, we very well may be.” He told her as he uncorked the bottle. Axelia frowned at him, watching him swallow the potion. Instead of saying anything else, she dug a piece of juniper berry crostata out of her bag and took a big bite. She hadn’t realized she was hungry until she began to eat so she also pulled out a few hunks of dried meat and cheese, with a bottle of mead, enough for the two of them.

Axelia had always liked to carry the favorites foods of the people she traveled with. Farkas liked venison steaks and fresh fruits and vegetables. Cicero obviously liked his sweets. She carried some ash yams and the ingredients to make ash yam stew for Erandur and Teldryn, whenever she traveled with them. Miraak just ate what she gave him, the things she had extra of. She hadn’t exactly asked him his favorite food though.

“What do you like to eat?” She asked him. Miraak corked the bottle, and gave it back to her, leaning over slightly towards the serving of meat she laid out for him.

“I hardly have a preference.” He told her, she thought he was just trying to make his presence in her life easier. He’d been strangely complacent since she got onto him for rushing her at Seren and Rustleif’s.

“Well do you at least have a favorite food or snack?” She asked, nibbling on a wedge of cheese as she awkwardly buttered a piece of bread one handed. Miraak seemed thoughtful for a moment, as though racking his brain for the last time he truly enjoyed eating something.

“I think my mother used to make lavender dumplings, with honey drizzled over them.” He told her, a slight red hue coming to his cheeks.

“Oh, those sound delicious. I have an oven in my home in Falkreath and an apiary too. I can make some for you then.” She told him with a smile. Miraak gazed at her for a moment or two, as though she still didn’t make any sense to him. Axelia had been getting those looks from him for a while. Practically since he woke up in her lap on Solstheim.

“We should be able to get to the vigilants by the end of the day. I don’t think they’ll attack us if we tell them we were tricked by Hermaeus Mora. Hopefully they’ll be able to cleanse you of his influence.” She told him. Miraak gave her a slight smirk, rolling the empty bottle in between his hands. Why was he always amused by her trying to help him? It almost hurt her feelings.

“And if they can’t? Or won’t?” He asked, making her frown deepen.

“If they can’t help us, maybe that can at least send us in the right direction. And I don’t think they’ll flat out refuse to help. Do you want to die, Miraak? Why are you so amused by me trying to prevent your death?” She demanded. The light smirk on his face dropped as Miraak looked away from her. A violent blush coming to his face.

“I’m not… used to people… caring. I’m not sure how to respond. I’m sorry, Axelia, I do appreciate it.” He told her. Well that was easier than she ever thought it be. She hadn’t been looking for an apology. She thought Miraak was the kind of man who would die before ever apologizing.

He had been constantly checking himself, the past few days. At least around Axelia. She was not as stable as Miraak had initially believed. She would trial off, like she had on Solstheim, except more often, she would have this horrible haunted look and all he could do was try to shake her from whatever place her mind had taken her to. Sometimes she could come back with a mere blink and a grin at him, giving Miraak an apology. Others she would cry out and rip away from him. Staring at him, like a terrified animal, low on her haunches, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

Overhead, a shadow passed, the familiar flap of dragon’s wings. Axelia froze, watching the dragon take perch on the side of the mountain they sat near. What kind of dragon was it? Had it seen them? Does she need to fight, or can they flee if they need to?

Miraak on the other hand, was excited, getting a new dragon soul would help him feel better. Even if it was just for a short while.

“Could we go after it?” He asked her. MIraak was a creature of pride but even he knew he would need her help if he was to combat anything stronger than a blood dragon. Axelia looked at him, concerned, ice blue eyes taking inventory, doing checks of his stature. Then she looked back. She could tell the hide was vibrantly splotched with orange. Either ancient or elder… Axelia did know why Miraak wanted to go after the dragon. It would help him.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” She asked, knowing she might get some backlash. They hadn’t gone after an enemy such as an elder or ancient dragon yet. A few lesser ones had come to them, they had been easy to deal with. But this was something else. If Miraak was in bad shape, he could very well get killed. Her first follower, Lydia, had met the same fate. That was only a year ago… seemed so much further away.

“I’m not sure, Miraak. It’s a strong one, you’re hurt.” She said worriedly.

“I think it might help me.” He told her. She knew that! Her brows knit, lips pursing.

“Just be careful, please. If you need to duck out of the fight, you can. I should be able to fight it on my own.” She told him, gathering their supplies and putting them away. A slight part of him resented that, but he was aware of his current limitations, no matter how nuanced they may be.

Before they set out, she cast a healing spell over him for a few moments, taking the edge off the festering heat pumping through his torso. He stood after she stepped back, meeting her concerned gaze. Sweet blue eyes dark with worry.

“I’ll be fine, Axelia. You’ll find a way to fix this. If you can manage to find a way to free of from Mora, you’ll find our way out of this.” He told her encouragingly. She gave him an appreciative yet pained smile, then they started their way to the dragon’s perch.

After a rather successful sneak attack from Axelia with her bow, the dragon went down with much less of a problem than the duo expected. Axelia was sure to thank her divines for that.

The pleasant heat of the dragon soul pouring into him was a pleasant and welcome change to the usual. It made his mind fuzzy and his eyes heavy. He gazed almost drunkenly at Axelia as she was unceremoniously ripping bones from the skeleton and storing them in her bag. She would use them to build her weapons and her arrows. She seemed very absorbed in her task. Axelia often filled her spare time with little tasks. He had noticed it the first week on Solstheim, from fixing armor to repairing weapons, she was hardly still. She always had to be doing something.

She briefly looked up from what she was doing, eyes scanning the area for trouble. She hardly realized she saw something before she went back to tightening the straps on her bag.

“Wait.” She said, looking back up. Was that the backside of a word wall on that mountain? And walls, there were walls. Human architecture. She’d never seen that before!

“Miraak, do you see that?” She asked, standing up straight and putting her bag in place on her back.  
“Hmm?” He asked approaching her, standing closely at her side. Axelia pointed

“See, the top of that hill. This side of Stendarr’s Beacon?” She said, and drew a line in the air from the vigilant’s tower to the mystery building. He leaned closer, following her hand.

“Oh, I see that now. What is that?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious. Oh! Oh boy! Axelia grinned excitedly.

“Miraak?” She beamed.

“Yes?”

“You know how you said you wanted me to show you my Skyrim?” She asked him. He gave a thoughtful and weary frown, slightly narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, I recall. Why do you mention it?” He asked.

“You’re about to experience something that is a big part of it.” She told him, earning Axelia a slight laugh.

“And what would that be?”

“Exploration. I fell in love with this land, wandering its stretches, investigating its ruins. Also, dungeon crawls are fun. Come on.” She told him, grabbing Miraak’s hand and led him down the hill.

They made their way up the suddenly snowy path, the crisp air evolving into sharp cold. Miraak gazed at the architecture, it looked to be about the same as the ruins from his original time period. Was this a dragon cult ruin? He didn’t recall any sort of fortress being here in the Rift.

After walking through a tower and up a path through an open gate, the two were greeted by an Imperial soldier.

“You two! About time you got here. I’ve been waiting for backup for days.” He demanded, jogging over to them in a hurry. Axelia and Miraak exchanged glances. What were the Imperials doing here? Should they find out? If this was war related, she didn’t want to get involved. Miraak gave her a curt nod. Then it was decided. Play along, but tread lightly. Something was off. Axelia returned it with a determined look on her face.

“Sorry, we got caught up, damned place is hard to find.” She told the Imperial with small smile.

“So what’s going on?” She asked. This soldier had to be an idiot. The last thing Miraak looked like was a low ranking Imperial soldier. He had almost two heads on Axelia and a head on most Nord men.

“This here is a ruin from the Dragon Cult. They had priests, who wore these masks, they were given to them by the dragons and usually came with a terrible power.” Captain Valmir explained, leading Axelia and Miraak over to the door on the far side of the courtyard. Miraak’s thoughts turned to when he received his own mask. He hated how it had become so tainted by Hermaeus Mora that its very appearance was marred. He supposed he should be thankful. He wondered what would have happened to his own appearance had been altered without it.

Forelhost. That was the name of the ruin. It wasn’t familiar to him. Perhaps it came to be after he was stolen away to Apocrypha. They found their way relatively easily through the front of the ruin to a small room with a sealed door,m the one the captain had mentioned. Miraak leaned against the wall as Axelia stood in front of the desk and flipped through the decrepit old journal, an inquisitive expression on her face.

“Oh! I thought the Atmorans had driven the Snow Elves underground by the time the Dragon War had started. Perhaps I should take you to meet Gelebor. He’s a Snow Elf. Auri-El has kept him alive for a very long time. You two might even be the same age!” Axelia told him with a grin, looking at Miraak from the book. He gave her a half-hearted hum, not sure if a Snow Elf would be happy to see an Atmoran, even thousands of years later.

What, they poisoned their own water supply? By the Gods, why? She clutched the book in her hands, had there been children? Or had there only been adults here at Forelhost? She found that highly doubtful. She didn’t know if the Dragon Cult had much to do with young ones. She looked at Miraak, who was standing away from the desk, arms behind his back, watching her. It wasn’t unusual for him to do such a thing, but there was something off.

“When you had good faith in the dragon cult, if ever, when you were running your own sect of it… Would you have killed all of your subjects, if necessity demanded it?” She asked, approaching him and handing him the journal. Miraak’s brows lowered over his eyes as he read over the page, a dominant frown pulling at his lips. Once he finished the passage, he raised his eyes to her.

“I am not the person I was, Axelia. The man I am now? No I wouldn’t have. Do you understand that?” He asked her, Axelia pressed her lips together, giving him a nod.

“However, before I rebelled, before I lost my faith in the cult. I… probably would have. If necessity demanded it. But I want you to know it was not something I would have done lightly. And I’m sure it’s not something these people did lightly.” Miraak told her, fearing if he tried to placate her with a lie it would only make matters worse. Axelia stared at him for a moment, eyes wide.

In the next room, there were beds thrown about, several of them occupied by bones that had been there for thousands of years. She stopped, sensing Miraak close behind her. She looked at each one, trying to think if they knew why they were dying. There were a few empty bottles around, as the journal had stated, but not enough for the number of people. Why did some actively poison themselves while others were poisoned? Had the other’s not wanted to die? Were they murdered for the sake of the dragon cult?

He watched her as she surveyed each body, her eyes haunted. She was an assassin, proudly so. How could she be so easily swayed by death? She mercilessly struck down people for money? Why was ritualistic suicide upsetting her so? She warily gazed at the pool of water near the door, as though trying to determine whether or not this was the very water that killed these people.

“Why are are you so bothered by this?” Miraak asked her as they moved on from the room, creeping through the hall.

“You kill people for money.” He continued as she strung her bow and shot the ghost of a cultist. She was quiet, his questions had actually seemed to distract her from the horror she was expierencing. Axelia seemed to be deep in thought for a few moments.

“I don’t kill those people for money, Miraak. Do you know why I joined the Dark Brotherhood?” She replied.

“Of course I don’t. You haven’t seen fit to tell me.” He grumbled at her. She gave a soft smirk, a sad twinkle in her eye.

“The previous Harbinger of the Companions was a man named Kodlak Whitemane. I loved him very much. He was a father to me when I needed one. I joined them before I become, realized more like, that I was Dragonborn.” Axelia paused, giving Miraak a glance, she was happy to see that he was listening intently.

“They offered me the beastblood. Aela and Skjor said I’d have to take it in order to truly be a member of the Circle. Farkas, Vilkas, and Kodlak did not. So, not wanting to align myself with a Daedra I knew next to nothing about, I declined.” Miraak’s hum of approval made her giggle.

“Then, I killed Mirmulnir and I realized my gift of being Dragonborn.” A slight pause, “And you know how it feels to suddenly be so much more than the ones around you.” Axelia looked back at him, Miraak wore a sympathetic frown. He hadn't felt it that badly. People in the Dragon Cult already weren't that close. Well, only close enough to be able to sink a knife in each other's back at the first opportunity. He figured it was different for her, he'd already seen how close she was to other people.

“I wanted to be close to my shield siblings again. So I took the beastblood. Things were fine for a while, until Aela and Skjor took me to clear out a werewolf hunting encampment. Then the dominos fell. And it ended with Kodlak being killed before I could cleanse him of his wolf spirit. I felt responsible. I felt like I had betrayed the first family I’d had in a very long time. So I gave the cure to Farkas and Vilkas and I ran away.” He could hear the tears in Axelia's voice, as though merely recalling her predecessor's death still brought her pain.

Axelia and Miraak paused after clearing a room of ghosts. He suggested they stop for her to finish her story, being surprisingly interested in it. So they took a seat at a table and Axelia continued.

“The Dark Brotherhood found me. They took me in, they took care of me, they became my family. I kill for them, Miraak. I don’t kill for something so petty as money. I love them. What happened here… doesn’t seem like something everyone here chose.” She told him.

Miraak’s dark eyes rested on her for a few moments after she finished explaining to him the finer details of her life. Did he think she was stupid for getting so close to the Companions to begin with? He gave a slight tilt of his head.

“When did you go back to the Companions?” He asked, oh well that surprised her.

“It was only after Astrid, the previous leader of the Dark Brotherhood here in Skyrim, betrayed me. I knew what betrayal really was. So I went home to the Companions. Turns out, Farkas and Vilkas didn’t want to cure themselves or Kodlak without me, so we went and did it. I cured myself as well, I was still angry with Aela at the time, so I wanted to distance myself as much from her as possible.” Axelia told him. He leaned forward a little.

“You’ve never struck me as the type to hold a grudge. Are you still angry with her?” Miraak asked. She answered him with a slight shake of her head and then stood up from the table.

“Let’s just get this done and over with, please?” She asked, dusting herself off. Miraak studied her for a moment or two before he answered.

“Of course.”

* * *

 

“Oh the absolute bastard!” Miraak hissed, crouched close behind Axelia as they watched who they had initially believed to be an Imperial captain, now dressed in Stormcloak armor, speaking to a Stormcloak soldier in the courtyard. This earned Miraak a slap to his shoulder.

“Hush! He’ll hear!” She spat.

“He sent us to our deaths for all he knows! Now he’s sending that poor soul to his death! Why should I be quiet?” Miraak demanded disdainfully. She gave him a stern look over her shoulder, then rolled her eyes and merely jumped down to the ground below.

“Legatte! What are you doing in those Stormcloak rags!” She yowled, causing Miraak to smile to himself, swallowing his laughter. Bard’s College lost a perfectly good actress the minute Axelia decided to be a warrior. The elf turned to her in shock, blushing madly.

“Wait! I-uh can explain!” ‘Captian Valmir’ spoke sheepishly. Axelia responded by pulling out her waraxe.

“Oh yeah?” She tempted smugly. The high elf then sneered, pulling out his own weapon and charged Axelia. She merely stepped to the side, casting a blink-and-you-miss-it calm spell on the Stormcloak  and then elegantly twisting back towards Valmir and disposed of the filthy liar with a waraxe to the face. After she shook the corpse from her weapon, Miraak joined her.

“I thought it was strange seeing both Stormcloaks and Imperials in the halls.” He deduced as she sat on the ground to began rummaging through the dead man’s pockets. Miraak vaguely wished she wouldn’t do that.

“Oh! Look at how neat these gauntlets are, Miraak.” Axelia said gleefully, raising the dead man’s arm and waving it at him. He gave her a distasteful look. Did she realize the morbidity of her actions? Judging by the spark in her eye, she didn’t.

Axelia pulled a sheet of paper out of Valmir’s pocket, unfolding it and reading its contents, a curious scowl came over her face. She gave it to Miraak as he approached her.

“Why take it to Labyrinthian? Nothing there but frozen over ruins and an overpopulation of snow trolls.” Axelia spoke, nonchalantly casting another calm spell as the Stormcloak broke out of the hold of the first one. She remained cross legged on the snowy ground next to the quickly cooling corpse, as at ease as a child next to their house pet.

“I think I know why. I always heard rumors about putting the Dragon Priest masks together and they could form an even more powerful one. No one ever tested it though, for obvious reasons. Although I suppose the proper place to do it would be Labyrinthian.” He told her, offering Axelia his hand. She didn't need to be sitting on the ground, next to a corpse no less. She made him feel like he was dealing with an actual child from time to time. She would act as a capable warrior with an even head, then the next she would be this. It called for worry, but he knew Axelia would not be willing to address it before they’ve fixed him, so he would let it be for the time being.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun was setting when they finally got finished examining the ruins of Forelhost. She liked to poke around ancient nordic ruins. Miraak didn’t seem to mind translating the wall for her, she could speak dovazhul roughly because of her time with Paarthurnax and Odahviing, but she absolutely could not read it. Perhaps that would be something Miraak could help her with.

Now they were by a fire next to a pond about halfway between Forelhost and Stendarr’s Beacon. She didn’t want to bother the vigilants after they’d fallen asleep and Miraak wasn’t going to expire within the next few hours, so they stopped for the night..

She was busying herself with sharpening that strange dagger, running the sharpening stone over the blade slowly. The thing could split a hair she kept it so sharp. He watched the sparks fly, illuminating her fingers with their fleeting light with each pass of the stone.

“Why do you distract yourself every time we settle down for the night?” He asked her, Axelia looked up, her pale skin glowing eerily in the orange light of the fire. The deep frown on her face and haunted look in her eye caught him off guard.

“I just… don’t like being idle.” She spoke simply, he was surprised she hadn’t gone off into an explanation like she had before. Perhaps she had done all the revealing she’d felt safe doing at the moment.

“That wasn’t really an answer, Axelia.” He persisted with a slight smile despite the thought. However the look on her face did not change but she looked away, eyes scanning the dark beyond their campsite. Perhaps she wasn’t in the joking mood? Of course, Miraak’s sense of humor was very easily hit or miss. Practically miss if someone didn’t know him that well, or very committed to sense whether or not someone was joking.

Then he realized that Axelia was the only person he was even remotely close to. Possibly ever. How had she managed it? Granted he was well aware of the difference in their lives before they met, being a dragon priest was not a position that granted many friends. Wary followers, yes, people plotting behind your back, also yes. Friends were not a well known concept among dragon priests. But she was not a priest. She was a commoner. Or she would have been. She was a citizen, and Miraak supposed he was as well now.

“How did you-” He stopped himself. What was he going to ask? How to make friends? Axelia looked back up at him, face still so solemn, but a quirked brow.

“How did I what?” She asked, Miraak chewed on his cheek. He didn’t really want to ask this, did he?

“Miraak?”

Before Apocrypha, after becoming a Dragon Priest, anything he wanted he was simply given, be it an offering, or an allowance. He wouldn’t say he was spoiled, but if he just wanted something all he had to do was demand it. But once he considered it, he hadn’t really had friends. That wasn’t something he had thought about about at the time. He didn’t need them, they could make him weak.

That seemed to be a lesson Axelia was painfully intimate with. It didn’t seem to deter her, however. Perhaps being impervious wasn’t such a good thing as he previously thought?

“Nothing… it’s silly.” He told her, feeling heat in his face. Was he really embarrassed about this? She kept looking at him expectedly, unwavering. That frown had faded and now she just seemed interested in conversation.

“I want… friends. Like you and the Companions. Or the Dark Brotherhood” He told her and this caused Axelia to crack a grin. Despite his own embarrassment he was glad to see she was returning to good spirits.

 _Good,_ he thought, lowering his eyes briefly to the ground, _good._

“That’s sweet, Miraak. I made friends by doing things for people. I impressed the Companions by helping them take out a giant. The Dark Brotherhood was a little harder, I had to do more for them than I did the Companions to prove myself.”

Doing things? And they hadn’t expected more from her? They hadn’t wanted to take more than what she was willing to give? From her story the Companions had been pushy about the beast blood but it had ultimately been her own choice…

“Just… helping them?” He asked. She scoffed.

“Yes, Miraak. I can introduce you to the Companions sometime, see if you fit in with them. Farkas may or may not want to punch you in the face for how you treated me on Solstheim, but after that the two of you might get along swimmingly.” Axelia told him, her eyes now glittering. He smiled softly. That was better. That serious, morose face she had been wearing seemed like it had no business being there.

“I’m going to go to sleep. Feel free to stay up though.” She said, standing up and stretching out her back. Miraak watched her, sparks from the fire dancing into the air between them, fading into the dark.

“I’ll keep watch, would you like me to wake you to switch shifts?” He asked. Sleep was something that came fitfully for her. He wasn’t completely sure if she knew about it. Miraak had to work to fall asleep, he didn't needed it for several thousand years. So the idea of going unconscious for six to eight hours uneased him. He would lie awake, staring at the ceiling or the roof of the tent, and listen to her toss and turn.

“Yes, might as well, you need to rest as well. Especially you, would you rather I take the first watch?” She asked. Miraak shook his head. To this she shrugged, undoing the buckles to her armor as she went inside the tent.

“Wake me when you need to sleep.” She said from within and then fell silent. They didn’t camp outside often. Riften was too far away and there weren’t any inns in the middle of the Rift that Axelia had knowledge of. Miraak didn’t mind staying up first, watching for bandits, or vampires, strangely enough. They had been reclusive in his day, and according to Axelia this habit of them going on the offensive was rather new.

Besides, all too often his worry kept him awake. Why was Mora just leaving them alone? Did the daedra just cut his losses? That didn’t seem like Mora. Miraak spent many millennia serving the daedra, he didn’t give up easily. Unless Mora’s ‘parting gift’ was his assurance. He wanted Miraak dead for betraying him. So much so he went to the extent of luring Axelia to Solstheim to take care of his problem.

Although perhaps Sithis delivering them had something to do with it. The Void itself might have struck enough fear into Mora to get him to leave the two Dragonborn alone. But wisdom wasn’t Mora’s strong suit, his undoing actually. What could Sithis even do? Did Mora just harbor a natural fear of the Void? Or had that been Sithis’s intent, to instill the fear of ‘what if’ into the daedra. Miraak wasn’t sure, having been freshly impaled, exactly how the situation had played out was lost on him.

 

* * *

 

He woke to the smell of eggs frying in butter. He’d woken Axelia a few hours before dawn to switch shifts. She would probably take a nap about halfway through the afternoon, propped up under a shady tree as Miraak watched on. But now she had made pancakes. Miraak blinked in that dreadful morning light. He figured he would’ve missed it… Axelia giggled.

“Good morning.” She told him. Sunlight suited her, it made her skin glow nicely and the way it hit her eyes made them shimmer like the waters in a creek.

He stood, stepping out of the tent and stretched, ignoring the pops in his spine.

“Breakfast is almost ready.” She told him as he sat down next to her at the fire.

“You’re not much of a morning person, are you, Miraak?” She asked him as he blearily stared at the orange flames.

“I don’t see much of a reason as to why I should be.” He grumbled, finally reaching out to take the kettle over the fire and have a cup of tea.

“Morning is a beautiful time of day. The night has gone, a new day, with new opportunities.” She replied perkily. He gave her a ‘ha-rumpf’ as he cradled to warm wooden cup in his hands.

“No more sleep.” He commented as she handed him a plate. He set his tea down on the ground and took it, taking the fork in hand.

“Thank you.” He told her.

“You’re very welcome.” She said, serving herself a plate and taking a seat next to him on the log. He gave a tired grin as he poked at the slab of venison on his plate, it tore easily with the fork, suggesting that Axelia had started on this nearly as soon as he had fallen asleep. How thoughtful of her. She had said she didn’t like to be idle, weapon and armor repair could tend to make a ruckus, so slow cooking meat must have been her quiet choice.  

He wondered how he could repay her. He felt like it wasn’t something that could be easily done. Axelia had already done so much for him. How could he even begin? How could his simple companionship ever be enough? That was so strange! Why didn’t she want anything from him?

He looked at her blissfully eating at his side, practically bouncing in her seat, he might add. So simple for such a great being.

“You’re… strangely… content.” He pointed out. Axelia stopped, looking at him, fork hanging from her lips.

“What do you mean?” She replied, taking the fork into her hand as she spoke.

“You told me about your family yesterday. How you’ve lost people in both of them. And here you are… Happy despite the weight you carry. It confuses me.” He told her, Axelia looked down at her plate, poking at her pancake stack wordlessly.

“I don’t think there’s much reason to meditate on it. I’ve seen what allowing your losses to consume you can do to a person… I’m still mad at Astrid for what she did. It’s the past though, there’s no changing it.” She told him with a minute shake of her head.

“I know I have to let go of that after sooner or later, but I’m just not ready yet.” She added on, looking up to meet his eyes. Miraak kept her gaze for a moment or two.

“I suppose that’s true.”

She smiled, going back to her breakfast.

They stood at the bottom of the hill, looking up, the ridge of the Vigilant’s tower just barely peeking over the crest of the hill. He huffed, knowing this wasn’t going to be an easy climb for him.

“Why are all of these buildings up in the hills? Why can’t nords build their buildings on flat ground?” He grumbled, halfheartedly kicking at the dirt.

“I’m sorry, just be glad we’re not in the Reach. Forsworn infested hills everywhere you walk.” She told him with a slight nudge to his arm. He frowned, fine. He supposed he was grateful for that. Besides, Axelia with her deceiving strength could probably heft him up the hill if worse came to worse. He’d exchange his dignity for not dying on this hill.

“We can always stop and rest if you need to. And restoration if it gets incredibly bad.” She offered. Oh yes, he hadn’t thought about that. Thank the Divines he hadn’t actually spoken his previous thought.  

At the top of the hill, he was out of breath. Almost wheezing as the chilly air he had once been grateful for cut his lungs. He wasn’t sure if it was his stamina or his stubbornness that got them up here without a break but he was beginning to regret it. He felt like collapsing to the ground. This was getting worse. He’d been able to walk the rather hilly terrain from the Pale through Eastmarch to the Rift without much issue. That was a drastic turn. Perhaps that called for concern. She seemed to have enough on her mind however.

“Are you okay? Do you need healing?” She came to a stop a few steps ahead of him as he was forced to slow down, he felt as though the sludge from Apocrypha was pulsing through his veins instead of his own blood. Which come to think of it that was not that far fetched. He’d have to slash open his skin to investigate and that would more than likely alarm Axelia. He looked up at her from the snowy ground. How could she still look so vibrant? He merely huffed and she grew concerned, coming over and casting guardian circle and gently guided Miraak to the ground.

“It was just a steep climb. I’ve overexerted myself, I think.” He mumbled, something in him wanting to lean against her but he settled for gently laying out on the ground. She gave an exasperated sigh.

“Well, hopefully this ends today.” She told him, fingers tugging at the overlay of studded fur on her armor. She seemed to want to go extremely light today. He only closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath as the high level spell coursed through him.

Once he was on his feet again after about a ten minute rest, he saw a vigilant watching them from in front of the squating tower. There was a wary hand on the hilt of the mace on his hip, as they came closer. The black of Miraak’s eyes was a dead give away for daedric influence.

“Hello! I’m Axelia, this is Miraak. He needs help.” Axelia introduced them chirpily, the Vigilant gazed at them wearily as they stopped a few feet away from him. The Vigilant just stared at them in shock for a moment before moving into action.

“What has happened, what did you do?” He asked them. Miraak and Axelia exchanged glances and with a sigh, Miraak began to explain.

“Four thousand years ago I foolishly made a deal with Hermaeus Mora. He trapped me in Apocrypha until I was recently saved by Axelia. But not without a price.” He untied his robe and showed the black mark, about the size of a dinner plate over his ribcage. The Vigilant stared in horror, mouth agape for a moment or two.

“How?” He choked out.

“Ran me through. Axelia managed to escape with me in tow before I died.” Miraak continued, deciding to leave the part with Sithis out. He wasn’t sure of the Vigilants’ stance on Sithis. But he wasn’t going to be telling them they had the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood in their midst.

“Well… come inside. I’ll get Ava… maybe she’ll know what to do.” The Vigilant said, turning to go inside the tower, Miraak and Axelia followed.

She sat them down on the bench near the staircase as the Vigilant went up the stairs. He noticed her hand on her dagger, and the slight worry in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” She shifted her gaze to him from the staircase.

“They’re daedra hunters. They might just try to kill you.” She whispered. What? That hadn’t already crossed her mind? Miraak wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or worried by such an oversight.

“How much do you know about Stendarr?” He asked her. While in Apocrypha, he’d had plenty of time to read. So he knew a thing or two she might not. Axelia shrugged.

“My mother worships Mara. I know plenty about her. I know a few things about Akatosh,” Miraak snorted. When he found out he was Dragonborn he read anything and everything about Akatosh he could get his hands on! A few things, by the gods. This, however, earned him a glare from her.

“But I don’t know much about Stendarr.” She told him shortly.

“Stendarr’s vigilants, although the ones here seem very… abrasive about their approach, are sworn to help if they can.” He told her and for some strange reason this earned him a very savage slap to the arm.

“What! What was that for!” He barked at her, jumping as she hissed at him.

“Your ‘if they can’t help? Dot, dot, dot, or won’t?’ From yesterday!” She spat at him as he rubbed his stinging arm. He grinned. Admittedly he had been acting just a little melodramatic. He had just wanted to find out how far ahead she was planning. Turned out it wasn’t very far. She wasn’t very thorough, or maybe she was just being hopeful that the Vigilants could fix this and that today would be the end of this little chapter.

He was quiet for a while, thinking over what she had told him over the past two days.

“You said something about knowing what allowing loss to consume a person can do… who was it?” He asked, hoping that wasn’t too personal for her. She shifted her weight, her steel boot clunking against the ground as she did so, not quite a stomp.

“My mother. My father died shortly before I was born. She never got passed it.” Axelia told him, raising her gaze from the ground to meet his eyes.

“Axelia, Miraak?” 

They both looked up to the voice, a trio of vigilants coming down the stairs, lead by a female Dunmer, Miraak assumed this was Ava.

“Yes?” Axelia asked, standing up.

“We just… have some questions. Miraak, you said four thousand years?” She asked, intense red eyes landing on him as he stood behind Axelia.

“Is that an important aspect of it?” He asked, Ava scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You spent four thousand years in a realm of Oblivion. We’ve got concerns.” She said curtly. Miraak nodded, knowing what it was they were probably worried about. 

“Yes, the alignment issue, I took care of that. It’s just this wound I need help with.” He told her and she cocked a brow. Axelia seemed to determine she wasn’t needed for this, since she took a step back and sat down on the bench, taking what looked to be a volume of _The Tales of Barenziah_ out of her knapsack and opened to somewhere in the middle of the book.

“Let me see the wound. Also, you ‘took care of it?’ How?” She demanded, narrowing her eyes at him as she stepped forward, boldly taking a hold of Miraak’s robe and pulling the fabric to the side. At least they were trying to help. 

“Hijacked the All Maker Stones on Solstheim is how.” Axelia blurted out, the Vigilants all exchanged bewildered glances and then stared at Axelia for a moment then at Miraak, who was glowering at her. 

“Oh! We’re Dragonborn by the way! We can do things normal people can’t!” Axelia explained, not really taking her attention off her book. Miraak continued to glare.

“Wait, both of you?” One of the other Vigilants asked as the guard and Ava just stared shocked at the two of them. Axelia finally took her eyes off the book to merely look over the edge at her. 

“The Septims were Dragonborn.” She answered. That was a decent point, he mused to himself.

“Wait, are you Septims? I’m sure the Empire would love to have a Septim back on the throne, since Mede was killed there’s a bit of a-”

Axelia saw the giddy look in Miraak’s eye and a trill of panic went through her, she snapped the book shut, leaping to her feet.

“Nope! No! Not Septims! No!” She barked, restraining herself from throwing the book at Miraak’s head, as though the collision would jar the obvious plan to lie about his lineage out of it.

Although… her great grandmother had been the Champion of Cyrodiil… who helped Martin Septim… during the Oblivion Crisis. Who also never married, but had a single child. By the gods! She could be an illegitimate Septim!

Miraak wasn’t sure what was happening in Axelia’s head, but considering the many different expressions Axelia was very quickly going through, it was probably something important that she would address later.

“Are… are you sure?” A vigilant asked warily.

“Yes! Move on!” Axelia barked, plopping herself down on the bench and crossing her arms over her chest, then promptly buried her hands in her face, giving a deep sigh. Miraak chuckled, he was interested to know what was going on for sure. But that was a tale for another time.

Axelia seemed to have gotten the point across because the vigilants returned their attention to him. 

“How were you tricked by Mora?” Ava asked. 

“Well… it was more a deal… that I very quickly came to regret.” He confessed, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Axelia raise her head from her hands, gazing in what he assumed was a great worry about what the vigilants would do next. 

“You made a deal, for what?” Ava asked. 

“Word for a shout. I was very stupid when I was younger, is there anything you can do?” He asked, although Ava was not done asking her own questions. 

“What… does this do? Does it hurt you?” She asked, gesturing to his wound. He stared at her flatly for a moment.

“Of course it does, a big black spot on my chest that doesn’t hurt would hardly be worth the-” He started sarcastically.

“Miraak.” Axelia warned and he stopped his tangent, looking at her for a moment before turning his attention back to Ava.

“Yes, it hurts, healing makes the pain go away for the most part but it’s never fully faded.” He explained. Ava hummed, looking up into Miraak’s eyes, taking his face in her hand, leaning his head down so she could get a better look. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a case of such thorough daedric saturation. For a much lesser case, I would suggest a ritualistic cleanse… but four thousand years’ worth, and whatever this is,” A slight gesture to Miraak’s chest. Ava seemed to be carefully thinking over what she wanted to say next.

“But what…” Axelia asked, slowly closing her book and rising to her feet.

“I’m not sure it will help.” Ava finished and Axelia felt her heart crack.

“It won’t? Are you sure? But could it? Could it help, could we try?” Axelia began to rattle off, gripping the book tightly in her hands. She looked between Miraak and the Vigilants, the former seeming to have been expecting this type of answer, for he did not seem anywhere near as upset as she. He merely tied his robes back into place with a slight sigh. She hugged the book closely to her chest, forcing herself to keep breathing calmly.

“You said a cleanse, how do we do it?” She asked, feeling like she was speaking very loudly as Miraak slowly reached out for her, his hand wrapping around her wrist. Ava just stared at her for a moment, probably wondering why a Dragonborn was standing before her on the edge of hysterics.

“It could help. I can tell you would like it to.” Without breaking contact with Axelia, Miraak reached for his bag and slung it into place awkwardly, his fingers around her wrist tightening just a little. Maybe this was helping her, she didn’t feel quite as panicky as before.

“Is there someone else we need to speak with? What do we need to do?” Axelia asked. 

“You don’t need to speak with anyone. Mediation with the Divines of your choice, at dawn and dusk, you can receive prayers from priests, it may help. Since you’re both Dragonborn I highly suggest praying to Akatosh.” He looked disheartened. Actually disappointed. She grabbed his arm, tugging on his sleeve.

“Miraak?” She spoke softly. He looked at her, bringing up his gaze from the ground. He then sighed and turned back to the Vigilants. 

“Thank you for your advice. We appreciate it.” He told them, wrapping an arm around Axelia’s shoulders and gently ushered her out of the tower. He could sense her unease. Well not her unease. The poor thing was actually hurt over this. He’d had a little bit of faith in this plan… but not nearly as much as Axelia had. 

“It could work.” He told her, trying to comfort her. Giving her some comfort was the least he could do for all that she had done for him.

“She said it might not as well.” Axelia told him, her grip on his arm was actually crushing.

“This doesn’t mean we can’t try. This may not kill me… quickly…” That didn’t come out right. Emotions weren’t really something he was well versed in. But she seemed to understand.

“We might have time to figure something else out.” She told him, hey eyes were wary but excited. He gazed at her for a moment. Snow drifted in the air between them, sticking in her hair, on her dark lashes.

“It’ll be okay. Even if it isn’t. We still got to meet, didn’t we? We got to be together. That’s what you wanted, right?” Miraak took her hand in his, not having to pry it off his arm as he thought he would have. He almost reached up and laid a hand on the her cheek. She remained quiet for a moment.

“You’re right. I got to meet you!” She smiled brilliantly.

The book landed on the ground at their feet with a thud as she unexpectedly hugged him. To his pleasant surprise he was fine with it. Axelia tucked her chin to his shoulder, sighing deeply.

“I’m really glad we’re here together, Miraak.” She told him softly, fingers digging into the fabric of his robes. There were a few moments’ silence as he tried to figure out what to say. He slowly curled into her slightly, wrapping his arm around the small of her back.

“I am too… and I don’t believe I ever thanked you for what you’ve done for me.” He told her with a soft smile.

“I never really expected you to.” She mumbled against his shoulder, but then pulled back, smiling up at him as they separated. It would be okay. They would find a way out of this. Her hand still on his chest made it feel certain. He was someone she cared about. They may not have had a good survival rate but Miraak was newly determined to beat that probability.


	11. Chapter 11

Dawn was a time of day Miraak wasn’t terribly eager to be awake at. Axelia woke him up anyways. She merely shook him awake, a lamp in the corner illuminated the tent warmly, and beyond the tent flaps there was darkness, and a hint of color on the very horizon. When Axelia was satisfied that he would not return to sleep, she went back to her side of the tent to get ready for their day. He watched her sleepily, running his hand through his hair, wincing as he snagged a tangle or two.

An amulet of Akatosh sat at his side. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to pray to Akatosh. The aedra had done little for Miraak other than make him Dragonborn. He picked it up, running his thumb pad over the medallion.

His distaste must have been apparent. Axelia watched him for a moment or two, then she reached back and took off the amulet that usually hung around her neck.

“You can use this if you don’t want to pray to Akatosh.” She told him, offering her own necklace to Miraak.

“But I would like it if you gave it back to me when you’re done. It’s a family heirloom.” She told him. Miraak stared at the necklace for a moment, then took it in his hands. He gave it a good look over. It appeared to be a custom made amulet of Mara. Which made sense, considering her mother worshipped that specific aedra.

It was surprisingly heavy. It appeared to be made of solid metal rather than a wooden carving overlayed with a precious ore.

“It was my great grandmother’s. Given to her just before the end of the Oblivion Crisis.” Axelia spoke as she braided her hair. He turned the medallion over, studying the craftsmanship. Perhaps Cyrodiilic, far too fine to be Nordic

“Given to her by her soon to be fiance, I assume?” Miraak replied, carefully curling the chain around his fingers. Axelia shook her head, tying the braid closed with a length of twine.

“No. She never got married. Just had my grandmother.” She replied. That was strange.

“Well someone had feelings for her. You don’t give an amulet of Mara this fine to someone you’re not in love with.” Miraak replied, Axelia only frowned.

“What I wouldn’t do for a nice bath at the Companions’ bath house.” She mumbled, as though trying to change the subject.

Upon closer inspection, Miraak noticed an engravement. He carefully ran his finger over the worn words, trying to figure out what it had once read.

“What was your grandmother’s name?” He asked her.

“Fionna Gaillo.” Axelia answered, taking out an amulet of Kynareth and headed outside.

“Come on.” She called over her shoulder, dare he say sweetly?

Miraak could swear he could feel out the word Septim on the amulet. Axelia would have told him if she was a Septim, correct? It wasn’t like he asked, however. Miraak rose to his feet, changing into a clean set of robes.

He joined her, Axelia was taking in long, deep, deliberate breaths. As MIraak sat down and tried to clear his mind. He listened to Axelia’s breathing. It seemed she did this often, she didn’t act as though the concept was foreign to her. When her breathing failed to help him clear his mind, Miraak decided to listen to the sounds of the forest. The wind rustling quietly in the leaves, the quiet ripples of the nearby pond water lapping against its tiny shores.

A warm, pleasant buzz began to pulse from the amulet and into his arms. Miraak jumped, nearly dropping the amulet in shock. That was working? It was working! Axelia hummed and looked at him.

“Are you okay?” She asked him and Miraak stared at her in shock.

“I… felt something.” He told her. She ticked her head slightly to the right.

“Was it a good feeling?” Axelia replied, lowering her clasped hands into her lap. He gazed at her for a moment, seeing the wary excitement in her eyes. She wanted this to work so badly.

“Well it was coming from the amulet… so I think so.” He answered. Her wary excitement burst to life across her features, illuminating her face brilliantly as Axelia giddily clapped her hands.

“That’s marvelous! That means this could work!” She yelled eagerly, then threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body tightly to his. Miraak was still for a moment, then laid his hands on her back, smiling softly.

“Yes, I suppose it does.” He told her. Axelia pulled back, that smile. That beaming smile that was as brilliant as the sun. He would never get tired of that smile.

“Alright, okay, let’s get back to mediation.” She said, trying to calm herself down despite. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be doing much true mediation, seeing as she was vibrating excitedly at his side. Although she wasn’t speaking her presence was very loud.

Miraak managed to tune her own, focusing on the buzz energy as it coursed through his arms, faintly trickling into his chest. This could work. For once, he was actually hopeful. This could work! Axelia’s hard work would pay off!

They were in a carriage, riding towards Falkreath. She wanted him to rest as much as possible, seeing that merely walking up a steep hill could render Miraak nearly useless. There was plenty of that in Skyrim. And plenty of bandits waiting on the other side. So Axelia didn’t want to take any risks.

However, it seemed that she miscalculated.

As they were passing by Valtheim Towers, an arrow whizzed passed her head and lodged into the carriage opposite her, scaring the daylights out of her. Bandits surrounded them and she bared her teeth. They didn’t need this.

“Damn it! These ones usually just let carriages go by!” She growls, taking her waraxe in hand, Axelia vaulted over the side of the carriage, boots first into a bandit’s face. Rolling as they hit the ground, she slashed at another’s ankles, quickly bringing the blade down on their neck. She raised her shield as a greatsword swung down on her, catching the brunt of it, barely staggering, bashing and then swiping, cutting into his side. Axelia threw her weight into a forward kick, sending the bandit sprawling, sword clattering. She prowled towards him, ready to finish him off when an arrow lodged into her shoulder. Axelia shrieked, stumbling forward nearly falling to the ground.

The bandit she was currently dealing with saw an opportunity and although mortally wounded, he decided he wasn’t going alone. He rose to his feet as Axelia was trying to get the arrow out of her back, also staggering across the road, trying to get away from the aforementioned bandit. The raised greatsword glistened menacingly in the sunlight and Axelia feared she would actually die today when:

 

_FUS RO DAH!_

 

Miraak’s shout cracked loudly into the air, hit the outlaw and sent him literally flying through the nearby tower wall.

She didn’t have much time to be impressed, another bandit was rushing forward, steel sword ready. Axelia abandoned the arrow for now, reaching out and seizing the bandit’s wrist midswing, then stabbed into her with the Blade of Woe, claiming the criminal’s life for herself. Axelia proceeded to gut her, throwing the body to the side and dodged out of the way of a warhammer that would’ve caved her skull in.

Miraak came up her to side, fire spell in one hand, ebony sword in the other, eyes dark with intent.

“There are more here than usual.” She commented, catching an arrow with her shield, wincing as the energy of the canceled arrow radiated down her arm.

“You use this road often. Perhaps they got tired of the Dragonborn thinning out their numbers.” Miraak suggested, slashing a throat without skipping a beat.

“Probably. But that’s their last mistake.” She said, pulling Auriel’s Bow out of its place on her back. Something told her to carry it today, glad she listened.

“You might want to take cover.” She told him. The carriage was long gone, might get some giants after them, but that’s nothing they couldn’t handle. She strung a sunhallowed arrow  and raised her bow to the sky as Miraak ducked inside the tower. The sun pulsed and she let the arrow go. Right at the moment, an enemy arrow sunk into her stomach.

Her scream rang out as the sun rained down.

Axelia’s scream struck the fear of the divines back into Miraak. He turned on his heel, his heart stood still in his chest as he saw her collapsed on the ground outside, an arrow in her chest, stomach and leg. The ground shook violently, knocking Miraak off his feet. Focused beams of sun crashed onto Nirn, striking down the bandits as they scrambled for cover.

Cool, strangely pulsing energy hummed through her veins, she was sore all over.

“Axelia!” She opened her eyes, finding that Miraak was desperately cradling her, he hung over her, eyes alight with worry. Upon seeing that she was awake, he laid a hand on her face, then crushed her body to his. Axelia bit back the groan as her wounds burned.

“Are you insane? A move that like left you completely open!” He yelled, pulling back and giving unintentionally shaking her.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t notice.” She mumbled. He bared his teeth at her, wait… were those tears? He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“You could have died! All it would’ve taken was a greatsword to the chest!” Miraak hissed, opening his eyes. He was shaking, she gave a soft gasp. She didn’t… she hadn’t expected a reaction like this from him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, carefully hugging him.

“I could’ve protected you. You didn’t have to risk yourself.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he carefully wound his arms around her.

“I’m fine. Thanks to you. You healed me.” She spoke softly. His magic had surged unfamiliarly. Almost uncomfortably, as though it was healing the physical wounds, but at a cost. It was darker than any restoration magic she had ever come across. Miraak himself wasn’t dark, at least not anymore. However he was obviously tainted by millennia in Apocrypha.

“Axe!” Miraak nearly drew his sword, carefully allowing Axelia to rest against the ground, he stood, eyes intent on the doorway as a relatively large shadow fell over them.

“Farkas! What are you doing here?” Axelia called out, shamelessly using Miraak’s arm to haul herself to her feet. That nord Axelia traveled to Solstheim with came running into the room.

“Vilkas saw the sun rays from that bow of yours! Me and Aela ran over here as fast as we could! What in Oblivion happened?” He demanded.

“Bandits. I got shot a few times.” She said, stepping forward and reaching for her shield brother. She took a step forward and nearly fell back to the ground. Farkas didn’t hesitate to scoop her into his arms upon seeing her struggle. Miraak, realizing the situation no longer required action, stood up straight, folding his arms over his chest. Farkas gawked for a moment, honest shock in his eyes and Miraak smirked. Axelia glowered at him, then looked to Farkas.

“Farkas, this is Miraak.” She told him. The nord hummed.

“Nice to me- wait… Miraak. As in that Dragon Priest that put you through hell on that island up north?” Farkas growls, eyes narrowing at Miraak. Axelia simply nudged his chest with an elbow. As though that would keep Farkas from throwing punches with the opportunity arose. Miraak could handle it, and it wasn’t as though he wasn’t deserving of it. Axelia had been wonderfully patient and even forgiving about how Miraak had treated her on Solstheim.

“Yes, they are the same and I didn’t really want to kill him, Farkas.” Axelia said, dropping out of Farkas’s arms, as though to put herself between them. Even though she was probably more of an obstacle when Farkas was holding her.

“Not when I last saw you. You were the angriest I’d ever seen you.” Farkas argued. She set him with a stern look.

“He hurt my feelings. But ultimately I didn’t want to kill him. Even if I said I did.” She said, cracking up as she went along. Miraak gazed at her questioningly, to which she only answered with an innocuous smile.

“The bottom line is, I don’t want him dead anymore, so please don’t fight him.” She said simply. Farkas looked at her, his gaze softening.

“Fine, if only for your sake. But I want to take you to Whiterun. I want Danica to have a look at you.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not edit this, this chapter infuriated me because it would not cooperate. It's short, and I'm sorry. I'll try to get the next chapter in quicker now that I'm done wrangling this pain in the neck.

The distasteful frown on Danica’s face did not go unnoticed as Farkas carried Axelia inside the Temple of Kynareth. Axelia gave her a smarmy, ‘I’m sorry’ grin in return as her shield brother set her down on an empty bench. Axelia allowed her hand to linger on his wrist. 

“I kept telling him I can heal myself, that I didn’t need him to carry me in. But Farkas here just wouldn’t listen.” It was true though, despite the strange way Miraak’s magic settled within her, she was fine. Maybe just a bit more stiffness, but Axelia was able to walk. Miraak had parted from the group as they’d entered the temple and knelt in front of the shrine, his back to the rest of the room. She watched him for a moment. He’d been uncharacteristically concerned for her. Axelia had been hurt before, he’d only seemed mildly concerned, if at all. But just now- Miraak had actually been scared. His usually powerful voice trembling just slightly in that room in the tower. But it was more than enough to notice. 

He was quiet on the walk to Whiterun as well. A bristling silence accompanied with a down turned face and darkened eyes. Was Miraak angry with her? She was just saving them. They’d talk about it later, surely. 

“It’s been a long time since you’ve come to me for healing, Dragonborn.” Danica told her, the title gave Axelia a jolt. She’d forgotten most people defaulted to calling her Dragonborn. She’d been traveling with Miraak exclusively for a few months now, not really bothering to check in with her factions unless absolutely necessary. Miraak always used her name since Solstheim. With two of them around, ‘Dragonborn’ wasn’t such a good name, especially with them joined at the hip. 

“Call me, Axelia, please.” She said softly, her hand on Farkas’s wrist fell to her lap as her shield brother decided to leave, apparently happy with Axelia’s location. 

“Oh, alright, I’m sorry, Axelia.” Danica apologized, stepping closer to look over Axelia’s wounds, or lack thereof. 

Axelia allowed her gaze to fall to Miraak at the shrine. She wondered exactly what it would take for Miraak to leave. Surely he would begin his conquest. But would he leave before then? Would Miraak allow her the courtesy of a ‘Hello, I’m going to go start toppling other governments.’ before he set out? Or would Miraak stay with her until he was ready? She figured that one day he would simply look at her from a campfire and tell her he would be leaving soon. 

Something about that scared her. Axelia wouldn’t go with him. She believed he wouldn’t even want her to. But she wouldn’t want him to leave. Would he ever come back to her if-when he did? Or would Miraak simply leave her behind when he ruled the world? The mere thought of it was enough to make her anxious. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t just abandon her. Right? Axelia clearly didn’t need him. She had been doing fine without him, what’s a little existential loneliness? 

Was she getting ahead of herself? Probably. Axelia decided to relax. Taking in a deep breath and releasing it. She and Miraak should talk about that, sometime in the near future. Before he decided to leave. She didn’t want to be caught off guard. 

Whiterun was bustling as usual. Braith was chasing poor Lars through the streets, guards were making their rounds, and shops were selling their wares. Miraak and Axelia stood underneath the shade of the Gildergreen. She watched the water flow through the duct, shuffling her weight uncertainty. This was probably something they should talk about in private. Whiterun was unofficially aligned with the Empire. Any talk of overthrowing it could drift back to Tullius, or even worse, Cyrodiil itself. 

“Are you okay?” She asked him, she didn’t miss his slight glower as she spoke. 

“So you’re upset?” She continued and Miraak gave a huff.

“You could have summoned dragons. You could have used Bend Will to turn some of them against the others. You could’ve summoned Lucien Lachance to redirect some of their efforts. But you chose to use Auriel’s Bow.” He said simply, sounding tired rather than angry. Axelia frowned, picking at the leather strip holding her waraxe together. 

“It seemed like the best course of action at the time.” She told him quietly. It really had. She hadn’t meant to upset Miraak. She hadn’t thought she could even really upset him like this. His gaze was worn and arms crossed over his chest. He must be exhausted. 

Axelia had bought Breezehome, but never stayed there, usually in Jorrvaskr. The habitual sounds of people helped her sleep better than an empty house. The house was mostly purchased to show loyalty to Baalgruf. That and she’d needed a good place to store her stuff. Breezehome would prove a good place for Miraak to rest. 

“Come on, you look tired. I’m not sure of how fond of laying your head down in Jorrvaskr you’d be.” She told him, waving Miraak in the direction of the charmingly tiny home. 

“Just up the stairs is the bedroom, rest while I make us some lunch.” She told him as she swung the door open and stepped inside, Miraak had to stoop his shoulders to get through the door. Without a word, Miraak went up the stairs, she was glad for that, Axelia was slightly worried that she’d come across as ordering him around. 

She began to shrug off her armor, a nice comfy tunic was calling her name, as well as those worn soft leather leggings she had. Axelia hesitated to completely disrobe until after she heard the bed upstairs sag under Miraak’s weight. Maybe they’d stay in Whiterun for a few days. Take it easy. They both needed a break. 

Axelia gave a content sigh as she settled into her cozy clothes. Good. She needed this. Axelia hadn’t exactly had a chance to rest of late. With Miraak’s activities in Solstheim to traveling with him, to trying to find a cure for him, her mind had been occupied and cramped. She’d had the chance to rest her body, but her mind had always been loud and buzzing. 

Now that he was on the mend she didn’t have to worry. 

“She did what?” Aela barked, Vilkas fought the urge to shush her, they weren’t in Jorrvaskr, so he didn’t really need to. 

Aela had lead them into the Underforge. She, Vilkas, and Farkas had decided to discuss this Miraak character in a place where they couldn’t be heard by just anyone who blundered by. It was weird. He was just a mask-wearing ass that taunted Axe every chance he got back on Solstheim. Now here, thanks to Axe’s mercy, he was here. He was real. 

Farkas wasn’t sure. He trusted Axelia’s judgement. But seeing as how Miraak had been able to alter her behavior nearly entirely Farkas had his concerns. 

“That’s right, she didn’t tell much but she somehow managed to haul his ass out of Apocrypha.” Farkas told her, Aela scowled angrily. 

“So after everything he did to her- she put herself in an insurmountable amount of danger- to save his life?” She spat. Aela’s face contorted in anger more and more with every word she spoke. Farkas didn’t blame her, as a matter of fact. Axelia had good judgement, Kodlak had managed to teach her enough about that before he died, but this was pushing it. He understood she had felt different since the battle with the dragon at the watchtower.

As Axelia’s forebearer, Aela was understandably protective of the much younger woman, regardless of whether or not Axe had cleansed herself of the wolf blood. It probably stretched further than that. Aela was practically Axelia’s mentor, the one that spent the most time with her before she was officially a member of the Inner Circle. Even if Farkas would have liked to spend more time with her. 

“Where is he? I ought to tear him to shreds!” Aela growls, stomping towards the exit, Farkas and Vilkas stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the pathway. Seems the feast she had on the few bandits that survived Axe’s last resort weren’t enough to sate Aela’s blood lust for the day. 

“Hey! Take it easy, he’s Dragonborn just like she is! He seems rather docile. If he’d had any ill will I think he would have finished her off before we got there. I didn’t even know who he was until Axe told me!” Farkas said. He hadn’t seen real fear like that in a man in years. The way he had been holding Axe… it lit up Farkas’s protective streak. He knew she was Dragonborn, Axelia could handle herself. He also knew she was fragile… to a point. Despite what she’d been through, Axe still trusted very easy. He wasn’t exactly sure what she had been through after she went away, but Farkas knew it was enough to alter her some. 

If Miraak took advantage of that, Dragonborn or not, Farkas would rip him in half.


	13. Chapter 13

The plains of Whiterun came with an early morning chill. He still didn’t like being up this early but it was better than the alternative of dying to Mora’s wound. He had checked on Axelia before heading out. He found her happily wrapped up tight in her bed in the loft, snoring softly. She usually went out with him if she was awake, but Miraak never woke her in the case she wasn’t waiting for him. 

Axelia seemed to like being here in Whiterun, this city was her home, clearly. She knew everyone’s name, their daily schedule, even knew a few of the people’s favorite drinks. She was a part of this community. 

Miraak found a nice mossy rock and had a seat, ignoring the chill of the ground seeping into his skin through his robes. He took out the medallion. It still struck him as just how… lovingly crafted it was. Miraak gave a soft frown, thinking about how unfortunate it was that it was never truly used. 

He looked up to the mostly dark sky, the stars blinking out slowly, one or two at a time. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, tasting the chill in the air. A deer ran by, its hooves thudding against the earth, loud in the stillness of the morning. Miraak relaxed, just listening to the sounds of creation.

_Miraak_   

The voice that droned into his head was one Miraak had prayed he would never hear again.  

_Did you really think I would just let you go? All because a petty little Dragonborn and her Dread Father supposedly tricked me into letting you go? You made a pact with me to serve me until you die. You will fulfil that pact, even if I have to sap you of every ounce of life you have, Miraak! You are mine!_

He jolted, rushing to his feet, heart pounding in his chest. Hermeaus Mora spoke directly into his mind! No. No. No, Mora wasn’t supposed to be able to reach him here! No! He was supposed to be free of the damned daedra! A sharp agonizing pain cutting through him argued otherwise. Blood soaking into his robes and Miraak fell into a kneel, clutching his stomach as blood welled up in between his fingers. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision. 

“A-Axelia-” 

* * *

 

Blood. Aela smelled blood, a different scent than that of the deer in which she was currently snout deep. She lifted her head from the carcass, huffing at the air, smacking her jaws and licking her lips to free her senses. That smelled somewhat like Axelia, it had that same strange smoky tang beneath the coppery smell. Was Axelia out this early? What could have gotten the drop on her so badly that she was bleeding that much? Then Aela remembered, Miraak was dragonborn. He would come out to the plains in the morning and the evening. 

She paused, thinking for a moment. The bastard put Axelia through hell. She did also know how important he had become to her unofficial pup. Aela could leave him, Axelia would never know. Especially if Aela dragged the corpse to a hidden alcove and gave him to the wolves. Axelia would look for him though, she was good at findings. She’d find him. Or what would be left of him. Aela would hate to see Axelia heartbroken.  

_Ugh, fine._ Aela stood from her haunches and sprinted to the source.  

Miraak lay immobile at the bottom of a hill, his blood a steaming pool around him as it slowly seeped into the ground. What in Oblivion happened? There were no signs of a fight, just a bleeding man on the ground, clutching an amulet to his broad chest. She growls at him maybe he was already dead. Aela could say she at least tried to save the man. She barked at him, a low, breathy sound to catch his attention if her growl had been to subtle. His eyes cracked open and he tried to speak, a broken, gaspy sound came out of his mouth.  

Aela bounded down the hill, nudging him with her nose and he reached out, bloodstained hand gripping her tawny fur.  

“Companion?” He breathed, desperation would make anyone do anything. He was in luck. 

“Yes.” Aela growled at him.  

“Will you help me?” He asked weakly. He was fading. Aela could just leave him. She was no healer. Axelia didn’t have to know. There was no guarantee she would get Miraak to a healer before he died. But Aela would know. She would know she left someone Axelia cared about to die alone. She gave another huff.  

“I will, but not for your sake.” Aela told him. He managed a weak glare, but underlying, there was a fear. It smelled like that of unspoken feelings. Perhaps even he didn’t know how he felt. However judging by the way he desperately held onto Axelia’s family amulet of Mara, they were for the young Dragonborn. Aela gave an unwilling rumble. Off to Danica it was then.

* * *

 

The bang from downstairs as the front door opened startled away any drowsiness Axelia was feeling. What was that?

“Axe there was an accident!” Farkas yelled out and Axelia grabbed her waraxe and sprinted downstairs, thankful she had finished lacing her dress the moment the door opened. Farkas stood in the doorway, eyes wide with concern.  

“What? Is everyone okay?” She asked, pulling on a pair of boots as she went.  

“Well… yes… now that he’s gotten to a healer.” Farkas told her as she passed him through the doorway onto the street. Farkas hesitated for a moment as he closed the door behind him.  

“Who is it? Vilkas? One of the whelps?”  

“Miraak. Aela found him half dead in the plains and ran him up here, she nearly got spotted in her wolf form, she got him to Danica but-” Axelia broke out into a full on sprint up the stairs next to the Drunken Huntsman, she’d thank Aela later, and then apologize to Farkas for interrupting him. 

She busted through the doors to the temple of Kynareth. Miraak sat on a bench, looking incredibly pale as his gaze met hers, with a bandaged torso. Axelia ran across the room and wrapped her arms around his neck. Miraak gave a soft grunt as she clung to him for a moment, then she leaned back and took his face in her hands.  

“What happened? Did you get attacked by a bear, or a saber tooth?” she asked, not noticing the tears that raced down her cheeks. Miraak’s hands found a place on each side of her ribcage, squeezing lightly.  

“Mora.”  

Her blood chilled, she went rigid, frozen in fear.  

“How?” she choked out.  

“He said he still owns me. The pact I made with him is still in effect.” Miraak told her, sounding defeated for the first time since they met. She shook her head stubbornly, blinking back tears.  

“No! He doesn’t! He just-He just thinks he does, Miraak-”  

He closed his eyes and gave a gentle shake of his head. Mora was a daedric lord. It didn’t matter what reality really was. If Mora believed something, it was true. There was nothing to stop him from reclaiming Miraak. He would not be free until he breathed his last. And Mora had set out to make sure there was very little time between that point and now. 

He opened his eyes, gazing up into Axelia’s face, seeing determination there. She was trying to find a way. As she always was. He lowered his brows, finding his own determination in hers. He wasn’t going down without a fight. They would find another way. They meditation was working. Unless Mora was letting them think that just to rip their hope away at the most inopportune monet. She stared at him, eyes bright with tears, her lower lip wobbled. He stood up with a slight groan. He was out of the woods for now, other people needed the spot. Axelia allowed him to lean against her lightly as she listened to Danica’s warnings.  

“Okay, Miraak, let’s go get you rested up.” She told him, making a mental note to donate a large sum to the temple for dealing with the wounded dragonborns.  

She laid him down on the bed in the loft, refusing Miraak’s objections to staying in the small bedroom to the side of the stairs. It wasn’t as though he had the energy to fight her on it. She wrung her hands at the side of the bed as he turned onto his side, holding his stomach with a wince.  

“So he just tore your wound open?” She asked, casting a guardian circle around the bed. Gods it hurt. 

“There wasn’t any visible stabbing.” a hiss of pain, “So yes, I suppose.” He told her, closing his eyes, trying to relax and let Axelia’s magic work. Her fingers were in his hair, carding gently through his dark curls. If he had groaned he wouldn’t admit it.  

“How did he even manage to do that?” she mused, probably more to herself. His eyelids felt heavy as she hummed at her.  

“Be right back.” she told him softly. Something was different, it became more obvious as the circle disappeared. Something was wrong, like molten lead pumping through his veins. He would keep it to himself for now. Maybe it was normal for the situation, he hadn’t been conscious the first time this happened.  

“You’ve got a little fever.” her voice softly whispered in the haze. A cool, damp cloth rested on his forehead. He gave her a weak grunt, he couldn’t really feel his body. She chuckled softly, her hand smoothed down his arm. 

He didn’t deserve this devotion Axelia gave to him. If their roles had been reversed, he would have struck her down without a second thought. He wondered if it she was so dedicated merely because they were both Dragonborn. Did she put up with him only because of their shared blood? She _seemed_ to enjoy having him around. Unless it was just their bond. Was it real? Was the way he felt about her real? 

He had fully realized the extent of his feelings for Axelia as he lay dying in a pool of his own blood. The threat of death was usually an incredibly eye opening experience. Truly strange. He loved her. Miraak would go to the ends of the earth for her. There was comfort in knowing she would do the same. 

* * *

 

In his delirium, he could smell warm lavender and juniper berries. 

The clatter of a clay plate on the bedside table along with an apologetic hiss from Axelia woke him. There was an uncomfortably warm cloth still on his forehead and Miraak was drenched in sweat. He groaned, the noise eliciting from his throat brokenly and he grimaced.  

“Oh.” Axelia spoke softly, hardly audible as the uncomfortably warm, cloth on his forehead disappeared. Miraak opened his eyes. Her soft humming filled the silence in the room. He looked at her, Axelia’s face was tender, gently focusing on the basin in front of her, dunking the cloth underneath the water’s surface and then wringing it out. She turned back to him, smiling gently as she saw him awake, then sat down at his side on the bed.  

“How are you feeling?” She asked, dabbing at his drenched face and neck. He gave her a weak smile.  

“I’ve been better, but it’s nothing lacking in your nursing.” He croaked, his voice cracking horribly. Was that a flirt? Was he _flirting?_ Axelia hummed at him, then stood back up, leaving the cloth on his forehead, he reached up and wiped it across his face. He got the shivers from the ice cold water against his skin. She took the cloth away from him and set it in the basin.  

“Hey, I made these for you.” Axelia said, there was a warm plate in his lap and Miraak looked down. Lavender dumplings? He told her about these before.  

“You’re a very good nurse.” He spoke quietly as she sat next to her, Axelia smiled at him, leaning back just a little. Such a soft look on her face. This was because he was delirious with a fever. If he wasn’t so sick he wouldn’t be so smitten. The nurturing care Axelia was giving him really wasn’t something Miraak hadn’t received since he was a boy.  

He took a bite out of a dumpling and nearly audibly groaned. That was delicious! He smiled. He hadn’t tasted something this good since he was young, living with his parents before the cult picked him up. 

“These are very good, thank you.” He told her, Axelia smiled brightly.  

“You’re welcome, I had to go to Falkreath to make them. Farkas watched you for me.” She told him, with a new smile. How charming. He would be incredibly embarrassed when he became coherent again. He’d probably be downright mean to her. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be mean to her, what he felt was true. Really, he knew that.  

“You trusted him not to skewer me to the bed?” Miraak asked with a chuckle.  

“The one I really didn’t trust you with was Aela. But since she saved you I suppose she can be trusted with not killing. So you’re getting there, yay!” She said, clapping her hands sarcastically with a pleasant gleam in her eyes. He smiled weakly. He almost leaned forward to kiss her. Oh gods. The only time he’d ever had a crush was for a fellow acolyte when he was a teenager. 

“Are you feeling okay?” She asked softly, laying her hand on his forehead. “I don’t think your fever has gone any higher.” Axelia mused.  

“I feel okay… you’re taking good care of me, how long have I been unconscious?”  

“A few days, like before.” She said, laying her hand on his wrist. He hummed. When would it end? With Mora dealing the killing blow at the absolute worst moment, ending not only Miraak’s life but Axelia’s as well? He looked up at her from the plate, fear struck him at the mere thought of it. Oh, please- no. No, she got them out of Apocrypha. She would find a way out of this. This was the first time he’d ever put his trust in someone so wholly.  

“I asked the College of Winterhold for some help. They’re researching daedric influence for me.” She told him, picking a dumpling from the plate in his lap, taking a whopping bite.  

“Now you’re stealing food from a wounded man, is that very kind?” He grumbled at her. She grinned at him after swallowing her absolutely massive bite. 

“These are for everyone, MIraak. It just so happens that there’s only two of us her.” She replied, and he smiled at her softly.  

“I’m just trying to figure out why you have a fever. That didn’t happen last time. I’m going to go to some herbs from the tundra. I’ll be back soon.” She said with a slight scowl. Axelia stood but Miraak reached and snatched her wrist before she got away from him.  

“Wait! Last time we were apart, this happened.” He told her, pressing a hand the bandages. A beat of panic, that was fear, not like when she had been hurt at the tower. More like when they had faced down in Apocrypha and he realized she was actually _winning_. Fear of death, another blow from Mora could kill him. It would kill him, for certain. He wasn’t sure what having Axelia with him was doing to keep Mora from attacking him. Perhaps it was the ever watching eyes of Sithis watching over his Listener and her consort. 

Was that was Miraak was? Axelia’s consort? Well… probably in Sithis’s opinion. A foolish first Dragonborn that Sithis’s cherished Listener nearly lost herself trying to save him. Axelia’s master seemed much more merciful than Miraak’s. Shockingly so. The Void was more merciful than the daedric prince of knowledge. The notion was laughable. The Father of Assassins, was kinder than the Gardener of Man.  

Sithis referred to the Dark Brotherhood as his children. That was a father sparing his daughter a horrible heartbreak. And continuing to do so.  

She gazed at him, soft. Those blue eyes so warm. 

“You need to rest. I need to go, Miraak.” She told him, urging softly as she tugged on her arm. 

That… he was afraid. Axelia knew fear when she saw it. She used to feed on it. Miraak was scared. She laid a hand on his wrist. 

“Can I at least send someone to get what I need?” She asked him. Miraak’s fingers flexed around her wrist with uncertainty, his jaw tightened. His eyes fell from hers and he suddenly dropped her hand, staring at the wall with a scowl in his dark eyes.  

“Of course you can.” He grumbled, a slight crimson hue on his cheeks. Axelia watched on for a moment or two, then she turned and went down the staircase. Why the sudden change in behavior. He seemed like he was enjoying himself. 

* * *

 

She sent Aela with drawings of the herbs she needed to break Miraak’s fever. Then returned to the bedroom. Miraak watched her enter, she didn’t say anything to him but sat down at the table. 

“I’m… sorry, Axelia.” He told her, Axelia looked up at him in surprise. 

“What for?” She asked, she wasn’t even mad at him. She hadn’t been expecting an apology of all things. He huffed, smoothing his hand across his bandages. Miraak’s gave returned to the wall. She watched him steadily. 

“I just… I can get defensive when I… feel vulnerable.” he told her, coughing, then wincing and giving a painful throat clear. 

“I- you deserve better than that.” She tilted her head. She knew it was more than likely the delerium, Miraak wasn’t a cruel person, anymore, at least definitely not to her. But she wasn’t expecting _that_. Axelia gave him a hum. 

“Thank you.” She said simply, he looked at her very closely. Then he opened his mouth, as though to say something, only to close it, his teeth snapping loudly in the room. Axelia  hummed, picking up the book she’d left on the table. She had been trying to finish the Tale of Barenziah in its entirety. She’d learned a few interesting things, not all of them good.  

“Axelia.” Miraak spoke quietly, she’d say even weakly. She looked up, her thumb smoothing over the book binding. 

“Yes?” 

Again, Miraak looks uncertain, mouth slightly agape. 

“I… is… would it be too much to ask for you to come here? Just… it’s probably- no definitely because I have a fever. I’d just- I would like-"

“Do you want me to lay down with you, Miraak?” She asked bluntly. 

His cheeks flushed horribly, gaping at her like a fish. Axelia’s brow twitched as she grinned at him. Sharing a bed with someone was not so unusual for her. She’d shared Farkas’s bed on occasion and it wasn’t like she and Miraak hadn’t slept in close quarters before. Her tent wasn’t terribly large. She’d woken a time or two practically in Miraak’s arms as the big oaf slept like a log. Of course because she was an early riser she was up and out of his arms by the time Miraak woke up.  

“Y-yes please.” He spoke coarsely with a blush. She stood up and went over, slipping into the bed and laying her head on the pillow, watching Miraak. He gazed at her for a moment or two then settled down on his back. He closed his eyes, giving a low hum in the back of his throat.  

“Your… presence is comforting.” He mused, causing Axelia to giggle.  

“Yours is too.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update. Please enjoy!

Axelia woke up, Miraak was still sleeping at her side. His brows were set heavily over his eyes, perspiration beading down his forehead. She gasped softly, getting off the bed quickly. Summoning frost magic she turned it onto the basin. Had Aela come back with the herbs? She dunked the cloth into the icy water, rung it out, and then wiped his head and then his neck. She soaked the cloth again and placed it back on his forehead. She tapped his shoulder. Was he asleep? Or had his fever rendered him unconscious? 

He didn’t stir. Axelia gave a worried sigh and reluctantly left his side. On the table was an herb bag, she smiled gleefully. Aela came through! Not that Axelia had any doubts. Well maybe a few, but Aela was getting better! She went over to the alchemy table and began to work, humming to herself. She tried to ignore what was happening but it was eating at her. Why wasn’t Miraak getting better? Why was he getting worse? What did Mora do this time? Why couldn’t he just leave them alone? Killing Miraak wasn’t going to get _either_ of them to serve him so why do it. Gods, she was so worried.

She poured the combination into the little glass spout. The concoction began to slowly dribble down to the bottles below, the quiet _plinks_ of the option the only sound on the house other than the kitchen hearth. She nervously chewed the inside of her cheek. Why was he dying? Why couldn’t she just _catch a break_ ? Her fingers clutches around the edge of the table tightly, her knuckles turning white. She didn’t want to lose him! Was Miraak going to die in her bed? Was she going to wake up and find him dead one morning, or even worse tomorrow morning? He’d survived _so much_ and _this_ is what would kill him? 

Tears splashed down on the stone surface of the alchemy table. Axelia wipes at her cheeks with shaking fingers. _She didn’t want to lose him!_ This wasn’t fair to Miraak! He was doing better! He was becoming a better person! 

The potion finished. She blinked rapidly, picking up the bottle in trembling hands she took a deep breath. 

_Just calm down. Something will work out. You’ll figure something out. He won’t die, he won’t!_

What was left? What could they do? Their best hope at this point… was Akatosh, whether or not Miraak liked it. Miraak may have made a pact with Mora but his very _soul_ belonged to Akatosh. They just needed a cleanse. His soul was tainted but it didn’t _belong_ to Mora. 

“A-Axelia?” Miraak’s voice croaked weakly from above. She rose her eyes to the ceiling. She took in a deep breath, trying to gather herself before heading back upstairs. He was sitting up, holding the cloth in his hand. He looked ghastly, his skin pasty and eyes were weak. 

“Hi, did you have a nice nap?” She asked, entering the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. He gave her a feeble grin. 

“I’ve had better ones,” Miraak grumbled. Axelia offered him the potion. 

“Drink this. It should help break your fever,” she told Miraak. He scowled at it but took it with a shaking hand. 

“I’ll start working on a soup for you. Lavender dumplings aren’t going to help fight off an infection,” She told him, standing up. 

“You know basic medical methods aren’t going to help either, yes?” he asked her, Axelia gave him a glower, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“That’s not-” 

“This is an infliction set upon me by a daedric prince, Axelia,” he stopped her, looking away as he took a swig from the bottle despite his own words. She frowned deeply. 

“Then… what if I went to Akatosh?” she asked, Mirrak nearly spat out the potion. 

“Axelia if he cared about me -or anyone, for that matter- he wouldn’t have let this happen! I understand that I didn’t follow my purpose as Dragonborn but leaving me to rot in Apocrypha for over four thousand years is excessive punishment!” he hissed, his eyes coming to life for the first time since Mora hurt him again. She sneered at him, balling her hands at her side. 

“Well I didn’t! I didn’t stray, Miraak! He might listen to me! He might do this _for me_. I could go to the Temple of One!” She began, wait. She didn’t need his permission. Miraak narrowed his eyes at her, as though picked up on her thoughts himself. 

“I’m going. I’ll take you to Dawnstar, you’ll be safe there. I’m going to the Temple of One to commune with Akatosh and I don’t think you’re in the condition to stop me,” she said as a matter of factly. He opened his mouth, eyes wide with shock. 

“Cyrodiil? Axelia-” he started. 

“No,” she held out a hand to stop him, “I’m not- I can’t- I won’t let you die to Mora, not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything you’ve survived!” Axelia hissed, fighting the urge to smack the stubborn oaf in his chest. “Don’t you want to be free? Why won’t you let me do this?” She added on softly.

“Of course I do! I was willing to enslave an entire island for my freedom! I just- I-” Miraak faltered to a halt. Axelia tilted her head, waiting for him to find his words, “I just- whenever you leave… I- Mora could attack. What if the Dark Brotherhood isn’t enough? What if it’s you? What if I need to be with you-” Miraak cut himself off, his cheeks turning a pale pink, if he wasn’t so sick she assumed he’d be red as a tomato. “Just let me garner my strength, Axelia. Please. Let me go with you to Cyrodiil.” 

That tone… she’d heard it before but not from him. He was literally begging her. His hands wrapped around one of hers… the look in his eyes… No, he needed to rest, Miraak couldn’t be sneaking across borders with her. 

There was something in his voice that was stopping her. It was beyond just the fear of dying. He reached up, laying a hand on her cheek. It was a strangely intimate thing for _Miraak_ to do but she wasn’t uncomfortable with her dearest companions treating her so familiarly. She gave a tired sigh, but wrapped her fingers around his wrist. 

“Okay. Another week, to let you replenish your blood. I’ll prepare for our trip meanwhile,” she told him, patting the back of his hand. The fever might go away with potions. His strength would come back with proper rest.

“Cyrodiil? You’re going to try to go to Cyrodiil? Isn’t crossing the border the whole reason the Empire nearly chopped your head off?” Vilkas demanded, nearly spilling the contents of his mug all over his front. Axelia scowled at him. That was insensitive. Farkas knew this apparently because he practically immediately clouted his brother on the back of the head. Vilkas hissed at him and attempted to swat Farkas in retaliation. She really shouldn’t be so hurt by it, Vilkas was halfway a mead barrel all his own. 

“It was… but I’m stronger now. If I need to fight my way through an Imperial ambush again, I can.” She reassured the drunken twin. 

“You’re going to potentially make yourself an enemy of the empire for this man?” Aela demanded, Axelia gave a dramatic huff. Why did Aela still question Miraak’s importance to her? They were the only dragonborn to ever meet, now and forever. This was the sort of thing worth being an enemy of the Empire over. That and she was _already_ an enemy of the Empire, the companions just didn’t know that, and they never would if Axelia had any say in it. Which she did, very much so. 

“Yes, Aela. But I’m also much sneakier now, Miraak too. We can just sneak out through an easy mountain range,” she said. Aela narrowed her wolfish eyes at her. 

“Are you two… together?” Aela asked, Axelia actually jumped. Why did everyone assume when she was close to a man that she was romantically involved with him? 

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering that too, Axelia.” Vilkas said, gazing at her with weak eyes. Fakas gave him a hard glare. She thanked the gods for Farkas everyday. 

“N-no. We’re not together. Everyone assumed the same with Farkas and I,” she said uncomfortably banging her mug against the table. 

“So you’re not together, and you’ve risked your life for him, what, coming on three times now?” Vilkas continued despite his harbinger’s agitation. He sure did get rude when he was drunk. Farkas gave a deep huff. Then he stood and yanked his brother out of his chair by his armpits, much to Vilkas’s disdain. Farkas took Vilkas’s struggles in stride, hauling him across the mead hall towards the stairs with a gruffly spoken ‘goodnight’ as he went down the stairs. 

Aela’s steady gaze was on Axelia as the doors to the basement floor shut loudly in the nearly empty hall. 

“Axelia, I ay not know him very well, but I know _you_ , very intimately. Our blood was once one and the same. I cannot forget that,” Aela told her. It was true. Her wolf missed its sire very much, and looking at Axelia can sometimes cause Aela the same grief a mother experiences when thinking about her lost child. Axelia gave a slight scowl, grumbling nonsense into her mug. She wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, “But it would be very tragic if one of you lost the other before you had a real conversation about how you feel.” Axelia frowned. There wasn’t much to talk about. She wasn’t sure what Aela was talking about. 

“You can deny it all you like, Axelia, I just want to make sure you won’t have any regrets, Harbinger. But I will turn in. Goodnight.” Aela told her, then stood from her seat and crossed the mead hall. She paused at the top of the staircase, sending her eyes back to Axelia, alone at the table. 

“Just ask him how he feels at some point. If you feel the same, then good. But it is wise to ask. When someone is gone, the words you wanted to say but left unspoken will often be the ones that haunt you the most.” 

When she returned home, after wandering the chilly streets of Whiterun for a while, she found Miraak downstairs in front of the heart with a blanket around his shoulders, nursing a cup of tea. She smiled at him and she closed the door behind her. 

“I see you’re feeling better,” she told him. Miraak gave her a weak but genuine smile. 

“I wouldn’t have shooed you off if I wasn’t. Would you like some tea? I know it’s cold out there.” He told her, standing up practically taking up the entire space he stood in. It got chilly up in the loft, there was a reason why she had piled pelt upon pelt onto her bed. But with a raging fever he couldn’t possibly have remained comfortable underneath all the blankets. 

“I can make it myself.” She told him, stepping closer and putting a hand on his forearm, raising her eyes to meet his.  He was easy on the eyes… even if he was tired and a little sickly. 

“It’s alright, I need to do easy work so I don’t lose my strength over the next week.” Miraak objected. She tilts her head, watching him. There was something different about him, Miraak’s entire demeanor had practically done a one-eighty. He was being… gentle. Sweet, even. She reached up, placing her hand on his forehead to gauge his temperature. He was delirious, right? Oh… that was strange, she moves her hand to his cheek. His fever was practically _gone._ Warmer than a nord, Atmorans ran hotter than their descendants. Miraak gave her an amused smile, his eyes gleaming unfamiliarly. She jolted, taking a step back. 

“Glad-glad to see the potion worked… I should keep them stockpiled, just in case.” she said, feeling her cheeks flushing. 

“You may want to if you’re coming down with a fever yourself, Axelia,” he purred to her teasingly. 

 


End file.
